


A Life More Ordinary

by Scribe32oz



Series: The Fourth Age [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fourth Age, Friendship, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:05:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15027239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: The War of Ring is over and life settles to a normal pace for the Fellowship or does it? In the White City, while Arwen is away, Aragorn decides to spend some quality time with Eldarion, with amusing results. Gimli decides that it is time for a dwarf to embark upon that great unknown adventure; learning to ride a horse. Faramir finds that living in a dead brother's shadow is more vexing than it seems and the rest of the Fellowship learn that sometimes a normal life is not as easy to lead as any of them believe.





	1. A Normal Life

 

There was harmony around the campfire.

Gandalf believed this was because the forces of good and evil were weary of their ageless conflict and had retreated from battlefield of the world for a brief interlude, no doubt to plot and plan their next offensive against each other. A sigh of relief escaped the land at this stalemate, manifesting in a gentle breeze that swept through the air when the field of battle was empty. The land settled comfortably to enjoy this brief equilibrium however long it lasted. Across Middle earth, the urge to destroy and fight had withered away for a night, though no one truly noticed it in the twilight hours of the dark.

Smoking his pipe, Gandalf noted the Fellowship was enjoying the lethargic pace that followed their evening meal. The cool rather than icy temperatures of the night were welcomed and if there was a cold bite to the air, the fire certainly chased the unpleasant feeling away. They sat around campfire, drinking in the comfortable atmosphere that had settled around them as they took a rare moment of rest, when the dangers of the quest and the conflicts within the group seemed terribly far away. During this brief sojourn, it was easy to forget that they were Nine Walkers embarking on a great quest to save Middle earth, but rather a group of companions, journeying the same path.

It was just as well, Gandalf decided as he let out a puff of smoke from his pipe. Even an Istar’s patience could be taxed by the behavior he had been forced to tolerate these past few days. Despite himself, he knew he was reaching the end of his rope when he began to wonder if it was such a terrible thing to use the powers of the Sacred Fire to turn each member of the company into some form of life that was incapable of speaking. A frog perhaps? No good, he shook his head silently because frogs could  _croak_. Insects would only swarm and cause the same irritation despite lacking the power of speech. He had descended the order of beasts that might be suitable when he realized that he was devoting all together too much thought to this entire idea.

It was not that the company was truly aggravating, it was simply that they had such difficulty tolerating  _each other_. With each rising conflict, this hostility grew so fierce that there was no need to fear being killed by  orcs or wraiths, when the deed could be easily accomplished by anyone of them in a fit of temper. The tension was so thick that Gandalf was being driven to smoke so much leaf that he had almost exhausted his personal supply. Since the quest could not be delayed in order for him to make a quick trip to South Farthing to replenish his supply, the wizard was rather irate by the whole situation.

Fortunately, at this moment, all seemed quiet and peaceful and for their own sakes as well his sanity, harmonious as well.

Frodo was no longer spending every waking moment bemoaning his fate at being the possessor of the One Ring, despite voluntarily agreeing to take the thing to Mordor while Sam was not constantly telling him (and everyone else for that matter) how courageous his master was undertaking this great quest. Legolas and Gimli had paused in their quarrelling like wayward children, a rather extraordinary feat considering one was more than a century old while the other was three  _thousand_  years old. Even Merry and Pippin had ceased to remind them it was time to break their journey for either breakfast, lunch, morning tea, dinner or for that matter, mushrooms. Boromir had also stopped glaring at Aragorn as if at every turn, the Ranger was preparing to claim something  _else_  that did not belong to him, be it the throne of Gondor or the last morsel of food left in Sam’s cooking pot. This was of course when Boromir was not staring at Frodo with longing for the One Ring.

Or at least Gandalf  _hoped_  it was his longing for the One Ring.

"I wonder what Rosie is doing?" Samwise Gamgee spoke out loud to no one in particular.

He referred to Rosie Cotton of course, the young daughter of Farmer Cotton who always had a kind word to him and smiled whenever he passed by.

"Probably still waiting for you to say two words to her," Frodo retorted, drawing a dark look from Sam.

"I speak to her all the time!" The hobbit exclaimed but by the shade of red his ears was turning at Frodo’s remark, it was clear that his intentions towards her ran deeper than mere conversation.

"Is she your lady then?" Legolas inquired.

"No!" Sam sputtered aghast. "She’s just Rosie, a girl I know." His voice escaped him in a nervous stammer.

"Can you believe he is known for his silver tongue among the girls in the Shire?" Pippin teased as Sam turned an even crimson with embarrassment. It did not help that Pippin’s remark had produced a ripple of laughter throughout the company at Sam’s expense.

"Don’t feel bad Sam," Frodo rose to the occasion as always when it came to Sam’s self esteem. "Pippin isn’t any better at talking to girls then you are, about how you feel about them. I saw him sneaking looks at Diamond of Long Cleeves at Bilbo’s party."

"Diamond?" Merry stared at his best friend in amusement. "You didn’t tell me!"

"Its none of your business that’s why," Pippin bristled and gave Frodo a dark look, especially when Sam was now grinning ear to ear at not being alone in his uncertainty around the ladies.

"How do any of you Shire folk expect to bear children if you cannot even speak to the fairer sex?" Boromir laughed heartily. "Women like men taking charge. You have to let them know how you feel and sweep them off their feet."

"And you know all this from your wealth of experience as an unmarried man?" Aragorn could not resist adding with a certain hint of smugness, since he was the only one in the company who  _actually_  had a woman in his life.

"One does not need to be married to know how to treat women," Boromir retorted sourly. "Besides Ranger, what would you know of women other than the wenches whose favors you no doubt traded coin for whilst wandering in the wilds of the north?"

"More than you that is for certain," Legolas muttered softly, perfectly aware of Aragorn’s relationship with the Evenstar and was almost tempted to reveal to Boromir that the Ranger as he called Aragorn, had claimed the heart of the loveliest elven female of her day. However, Boromir was already envious enough of Aragorn by the fact that he was Isildur’s heir and the rightful king of Gondor. If he were to know that Aragorn was to wed the most beautiful woman in Middle earth, it would crush his spirit or at the very least, throw him into a deeper fit of depression.

"I am rather surprised that you’re not married Mr. Elf," Samwise remarked suddenly and shifted the focus of the conversation away from Aragorn who did not appear happy to discuss his experiences with the opposite sex in any shape or form. "You’re very much older than all of us."

"My people are immortal," Legolas answered the hobbit’s question, realizing that it was a genuine inquiry and that it was a good opportunity to detract Boromir’sattention from his earlier statement regarding the Evenstar. "We do not see any reason to make haste when choosing a mate."

"Choosing a mate?" Gimli stared at him. "You speak as if you are choosing a cow for breeding!"

"Nicely put Master Gimli," Gandalf chuckled, shaking his head at the whole conversation.

"With the dwarfs," Gimli spoke up taking the opportunity to explain the mysteries of dwarf women and the institution of marriage as a whole, "it is the lady that does the choosing. If you are good enough for her, she will often find some way to let you know it."

"I am sure Rosie will let you know Sam," Frodo said good naturedly, "I’ve seen how she looks at you."

"I don’t know," Sam dropped his gaze into the fire, a little uncomfortable speaking about so personal a matter. "I have thought about settling down and getting a wife when this is all over, if we live through this that is."

"I’m sure you will," Aragorn added warmly. "If stout heartedness alone is all that is needed to carry us through this quest, I am certain that you will produce enough for all of us to go to Mordor and back again. I do not doubt that you will one day settle with your Rosie and lead a good, long life."

"I’d settle for normal," Sam replied, smiling at Aragorn for his understanding words.

"Normal?" Gandalf snorted. "What exactly is that fabled state of being?"

"You don’t think its possible to lead a normal life Gandalf?" Frodo asked warily because since was the one thing that enabled him to endure this terrible ordeal to destroy the One Ring, the hope of returning to the Shire when it was all said and done.

"Normal is a matter of perspective," Gandalf remarked, blowing the shape of a blooming flower in smoke out of his mouth before continuing. "There is extraordinary in everything, even in what one perceives as normalcy. I am certain a man who goes about his every day business will encounter trials that will vex him as greatly as any danger we face during our quest."

"I hope not," Merry replied. "All I want to do when this is all done is to get back to the Shire and have things the way they were before we started out on this whole adventure. I mean I’m happy to do what needs to be done but I do miss the quiet."

"Me too," Pippin agreed. "We never faced barrow wrights or avalanches or any of the terrible things we’ve seen until leaving the Shire. I’ll be glad when we’re home again and seen the last of them."

"I wish I had your choices," Aragorn replied softly and surprised himself by meaning it.

He knew that he was poised at the edge of destiny with the quest to rid the world of the One Ring. Events that had always been more myth and prophecy to him were now starting to take shape in reality and Aragorn knew where it would ultimately lead. He knew without clairvoyance or any keen elven insight that his days of freedom were numbered, that the quest of the One Ring would close out his carefree existence as the Ranger Strider. Whatever was borne out of the destruction of Isildur’s bane, Aragorn knew that when it was over, he would be King and that was not a thought that he relished.

"Choices arise whether you wish them or not," Boromir stared him straight in the eye and for the first time both men shared an empathy with each other at being so helplessly trapped by the whims of Fate. "There never seemed to be any for me until recent days and they can be as perplexing as they can be frightening. My brother and I might find ourselves facing entirely different paths from what we always envisioned."

Boromir tried not to look at either Frodo or Aragorn as he made mention of that.

"I do not care," Gimli replied oblivious to the interplay between Aragorn and Boromir. "All I wish when we are done here is to see the mountains of Erebor again. My kind are happiest with the earth above our heads, not the stars. I have no thirst for roaming wildly and I have seen far too much than I would like already. I think before this quest is done, I will have had my fill of adventure and the world beyond my home."

"I expect that I shall sail across the sea once we have accomplished our endeavors at Mordor," Legolas replied, joining the suddenly introspective turn the conversation had taken. "If Sauron is defeated, there is no more reason for the Eldar to remain in Middle earth."

"Well," Frodo Baggins replied, wondering briefly at the knowing look in Gandalf’s eyes as he spoke, "it will be good when this is all over and everything is back to normal again."

"Yes," Gandalf snorted, as if privy to some enormous secret that none of them were aware, "normal life indeed."


	2. Aragorn takes a Day

###  ****

Eldarion was crying.

The Evenstar stared at her son; a brow furrowed over her eyes, her jaw was set and determined. Some would say she wore an expression of impending battle for her expression as she stood before her son in his crib, trying to discern why he was choosing to wail as if a dozen Nazgul were pounding at the door. She did not know how long she had been standing before the babe, studying him with the scrutiny of a hawk about to sweep upon its prey, hoping that her deep observation would yield an answer to the question that weighed so heavily upon her thoughts.

This business of motherhood was nowhere as easy as she imagined it would be.

Infants were rare among her people because elves were so long lived. Most who chose to have families did so quickly and early on in their lives, thus most of the elves that Arwen knew had already left their child rearing days behind them. She had seen small elven children only once or twice in recent years and had not spent enough time among the race of men to see how their children were raised from infancy. It was because of this mystery that she had endeavored to miss nothing in her son’s life, aware that his years were far shorter than her own because he was more human then he was elven.

  
"What is the matter?" She cried out finally, unable to endure this pitiful wailing any further. "You are fed. You have not soiled yourself and I have held you for so many hours that my arms ache and yet you still persist in crying!"

Eldarion’s face was red and slick with tears, his eyes staring at his mother in need that was bewildering to her. Arwen let out a small groan, picking him up again, hoping that her embrace would dispel this mood the child had fallen into. The crown prince of Gondor ceased his crying briefly as he felt the comforting arms of the one person he was recognized above all others before sputtering his silence away in another burst of tear.

"Oh Eldarion!" Arwen groaned falling into her chair. "I wish I knew what was wrong!" Her voice started to waver in frustration. "I am not a good mother. I cannot tell what ails you! Perhaps they are right, I should allow a nurse to look after you since I am not fit! How am I supposed to be the Queen of Gondor when I cannot even tend to a baby!"

Eldarion voiced his agreement loudly with a plaintive wail, ensuring that his mother soon joined him in his tears.

It was this scene that greeted King Aragorn Elessar of Gondor upon his entrance into the nursery where he found himself stopping short at the sight of both his wife and son weeping loudly. Arwen was cradling Eldarion in her arms, rocking the infant back and forth, with more than a tinge of desperation in her eyes as she continued to sob. It was difficult to say which of the two appeared more despaired but for the sake of his well being, particularly in the presence of his rather temperamental wife, it was best that he attempted to resolve the situation with as much sympathy (and pandering) as he could muster.

"Arwen, what is the matter?" He asked and immediately winced.

"What is the matter?" She barked at him, tear running down her cheeks. "Can you not see?"

"I see that you are upset," he said cautiously, aware that in her state she was easier to anger than a Balrog after an encounter with an untidy Istar.

"I am not upset!" She burst out vehemently through her tears.

"Obviously," he replied with a completely neutral voice aware that he walked a knife’s edge.

"Why will he not stop crying!" She glanced at Eldarion as she made this tearful declaration. "I am his mother and I cannot stop him from weeping so. He has not stopped other than to take a breath and each time I put him down again, he resumes his screaming! How am I suppose to be a good mother if I cannot discover what troubles him! He is only a child! He relies upon me to look after him, to interpret his every need! What kind of mother am I if I cannot unravel this simple mystery!"

All Aragorn could think of in the face of this revelation was the fact that Ioreth had  _not_  been exaggerating when she had sought him out in the throne room.

"Arwen," Aragorn said gently, walking gingerly towards his wife as if he were approaching a disgruntled bear in the wild. At least out there he was allowed to be armed, Aragorn thought silently to himself.

"Let me take him for awhile," he offered, "you are exhausted and you have not slept well because of your fretting over this child."

"FRETTING!" Arwen fumed. "I am not fretting!"

Even when he was fighting Nazgul, Aragorn never had to think  _that_  fast.

"It was an ill choice of words," he explained smoothly, showing no signs of panic even though inside he was fearful of aggravating her nerves any further. "You have been paying devoted attention to Eldarion since this birth, I think you are merely exhausted in mind and in body. Let me share the duty, after all, I did have something to do with his creation and ought to have some share of the burden of his care."

  
"I would have preferred you shared the ten hours of labor it took to deliver him," she said dryly, her tears evaporating a little more quickly than her anger.

Aragorn had no response to that statement and he took the universal approach of every father encountering this same comment which was to shut up and say nothing.

Unfortunately, his ordeal was far from done for the instant he took Eldarion from Arwen and cradled the child in his arms, the crown prince chose that instant to betray Aragorn by falling silent, his tearful display dissipating in a few short breaths. Aragorn rolled his eyes in ire, perfectly aware of what was coming when he noted the expression of dismay that crept into Arwen’s face when she realized what had happened.

"You see! Even you are better at this than I am! He stops crying for you!" Arwen continued to sob. "He knows I am a terrible mother!"

  
As Aragorn stared helplessly as Arwen launched into her tirade, which Ioreth claimed to be perfectly normal for young mothers with their first child, Aragorn came to the conclusion that it was time for Arwen to take a holiday to Ithilien.

  
_A long holiday._

* * *

 

Aragorn never thought he would see the day when he was happy that Arwen was leaving him for a length of time. However, in recent months she had undergone trials that would tax even the most willful of minds and the rest away from Gondor, in his opinion would do her sanity (and his) a world of good. It did not require much convincing for Arwen to agree to take a trip to Ithilien to visit Eowyn, for even she was not completely oblivious to the incendiary state of her temperament of late. It was not often that elves lost their temper but when it did happen, Aragorn knew when to seek cover and ride out the conflagration.

Ioreth, who had become their most trusted counsel in these early days of parenthood had explained how some new mothers, at least those that were human, were often prone to mood swings as their body recovered from the experience of childbirth. It appeared to Aragorn in light of Arwen’s recent mood that elven women also suffered a similar affliction. Indeed the two hours he was forced to sit and listen to Arwen as she blamed him for everything under the sun, including the sinking of Beleriand despite his not even being born at the time, would seem to confirm this belief.

Of course the situation was not aided by the fact that throughout her tirade, Eldarion had not cried  _once_  in his arms.

Eventually however, when she had calmed down sufficiently, Aragorn convinced Arwen that perhaps it was time that she took up Eowyn’s offer to visit Ithilien. Since arriving in Minas Tirith, Arwen had only made two trips away from the White City and neither of those were occasions she could remember with any fondness. A leisurely trip to visit a good friend, such as Eowyn was to the Queen of Gondor, would only do Arwen good and in truth, Aragorn did think she needed a rest even if his motives were a little self-serving. Besides, the King thought with a smile of evil satisfaction worthy of Sauron, Arwen and Eowyn together could torture Faramir for awhile.

There were times when it was good to be the king.

Thus Arwen left for Ithilien with an escort that comprised of an entourage of Gondor’s finest soldiers who would ensure that the Evenstar arrived at her destination safely. In truth, Aragorn could not deny feeling a little sad at her departure but he knew without doubt that she needed some time away from the White City to simply be Arwen and not the Queen of Gondor or for that matter, Eldarion’s mother. He would have considered going with her if not for the fact that he was needed to rule and someone had to care for Eldarion while she was gone. There was no way Arwen would have left the White City for one moment if she thought her son would without even one of his parents.

With Arwen’s departure and the palace returning to some semblance of normalcy, Aragorn found himself again embroiled in the management of the Reunified Kingdom. It was no easy feat sitting in rule over a land that had only known peace in recent years. The map of Middle earth had changed significantly since the War of the Ring with new colonies being established and the land of Mordor no longer a threat it had once be. Aragorn found himself creating alliances, establishing new lines of trade and establishing relations with races he would never had imagined worthy of the effort, like the Haradirim and the Easterlings. However, his acquaintanceship with Legolas’ wife Melia had taught Aragorn that not all the Easterlings were evil and some were merely victims of Sauron’s rule.

Such occupations filled Aragorn’s days following Arwen’s departure and time seemed to move past him faster than he would like. Despite himself, he missed Arwen more than he dared to admit, until he longed so much for her that he did care if she returned with the same temperament that had precipitated his sending her away to Ithilien, as long as she was with him. His days were full of work but his nights were terrible indeed and he found himself wandering the halls of the palace in the evening, surprising his household staff and his guards by his unexpected appearances. Apparently, his skills of stealth as a Ranger had not waned one bit for he had almost been cleaved in half by the cook when he surprised her in the kitchen whilst pilfering a late night snack.

After placing his entire staff on full alert for almost a week, for they were living in constant vexation of when he might suddenly emerge to catch them unawares, Aragorn decided that he needed to get out of the palace for awhile before he drove them to revolt in protest. What to do with this time was a difficult question though for the requirements of his kingship ensured that he could not wander too far from Minas Tirith. Personal quests of late had taken him from the White City for weeks on end and though his councilors and ministers could run the day to day business of the kingdom in his stead, Gondor still needed its king.

  
However he chose to occupy himself for a few days, it would have to be without leaving Minas Tirith.

"There are days Eldarion," Aragorn remarked as he fed the child that night after Ioreth had carefully prepared the infant’s bottle, knowing how much the king looked forward to doing this duty himself. "There are days when I wish that things were the way the were before the War. As a Ranger, I could go anywhere. Now I am trapped in my own palace, unable to leave because matters of state require me close to home. How am I supposed to not become mad from this confinement?"

Eldarion who was busily drinking his milk, offered his sympathy in a loud guzzle.

Aragorn pined for the days when he traveled with Legolas and Gimli across the land into Rohan and leading the Fellowship through Middle earth during the quest of the Ring. Though the times had been perilous indeed, the simple joy of crossing the land on his own volition without entourages and guards was terribly inviting and was still a siren song that was difficult to resist. He had taken for granted the freedom to move about without having to account for himself, to go where he wished when he desired to do so. This business of answering to everyone seemingly, when he wanted to take some time for himself was terribly vexing.

"There are so many things I wanted to show you my son, the Argonath, Amun Hen, Parth Galen, Fangborn, the Shire," Aragorn let the words tumble from his lips, a litany to the past he could not recapture though he wanted desperately to at times. He stared at his son, thinking about all the places that he had had seen in his life and feeling this overwhelming sense of loss at knowing by the time Eldarion was old enough, much of what he remembered would be gone. "But it appears that I am as chained to this place as you."

Saying the words out loud had a rather astonishing effect upon the king for in that instance he came to the shocking conclusion that he was preparing to allow this thing to happen. He was the King of Gondor, the Elfstone, one who was capable of summoning the dead. There was no reason why he should allow himself to be trapped in his palace like a prisoner, when he had faced far worse in his life. He was Aragorn Elessar and he would go where he would and he dared any one to stop him.

Besides, if he were crafty enough in his departure from the palace, no one would ever have to know.

"Eldarion," Aragorn stared purposefully at his son who by now had ingested more than half of the bottle’s contents, "we are not languishing here like trapped animals,  _we_  are going out. Tomorrow, we will venture into the city and see where our feet take us. Frodo’s uncle often spoke of great adventures beginning as simply as this and we shall embark upon one on our own."

Whether or not it was because he had drained his bottle or because his father’s words gave him reason for alarm, Eldarion looked up at Aragorn with a decidedly uneasy expression on his cherubic face.

"Now do not look so discouraged," Aragorn chided, not about to let the child’s frown dampen his enthusiasm for this plan, "trust me, nothing can go wrong."

Aragorn should have known he was tempting fate.

* * *

 

"Sire, this is a terrible idea," Ioreth declared, attempting to talk sense into the king whom she was certain had lost his mind.

"Ioreth, you worry too much," Aragorn remarked as he proceeded to pack Eldarion’s belongings into the pouch attached to a travelling harness he could mount on his back to carry the child about. "I am merely taking my son through Minas Tirith for a day or so. I see nothing so terrible about it."

Ioreth rolled her eyes in disbelief at his nonchalance to the whole business. She wondered if Denethor had been this difficult and then recanted that thought because Denethor would probably have no need to wander beyond the walls of the palace, not when he had a palantir in his possession and no doubt used it to see what was transpiring around his kingdom. Unfortunately, Aragorn was not one of those rulers accustomed to remaining behind the walls of their domicile, as the last week revealed when he had driven every member of the household to distraction by the surprise appearances he made everywhere.

Palace life functioned smoothly with member of the household priding themselves in the knowledge of the king’s whereabouts at al times in order to ensure that they could anticipate his every need. It was an unspoken agreement between house and king that had lasted for generations, that Aragorn was now suddenly flouting this tradition by having the audacity to go where he willed, no matter how unexpected had created a stir throughout the ranks of those dedicated to service within the palace. No doubt this behavior had arisen from the fact that the Queen had gone to Ithilien and Ioreth knew that it was very possible the household staff might burst into spontaneous celebration when she returned.

Either that or kneel at her feet in reverential worship.

"You are the king, it is not safe for you and the little prince to be simply wandering about the city," Ioreth tried once again to reason with Aragorn, her eyes wincing at the sight of him in his old Ranger clothes. Suddenly, Ioreth understood why Arwen had ordered Aragorn’s entire wardrobe from his wandering past, burnt. Iorethwas glad that the lady was not here, for it would vex Arwen to no end to discover that he had managed to hide some of it from her.

"Ioreth," Aragorn straightened up and looked at the nurse who was also quickly becoming his the head of his household staff since she had the amazing ability to be able to handle them as well as she used to handle patients in the House Healing. "I was a Ranger for many years, I have fought orcs, trolls and even a watcher. I have somehow managed to keep and elf and a dwarf from disemboweling each other during the quest while at the same time ensuring that nothing stands in the way of hobbits and their meals, I am certain I will be able to handle myself in the White City."

Ioreth was starting to see why Arwen needed the time in Ithilien.

"I understand that Sire," she said neutrally, "and I applaud your abilities for I have seen how ravenous the halfings can be but those were days when no one knew you were king and you did not intend on taking an infant with you."

Aragorn did not pause in his preparations as he lifted Eldarion from his cradle. The child was dressed warmly and appeared rather happy to be picked up by his father, a situation that did not improve Ioreth’s case against this journey. Aragorn gave his son a proud smile and then turned smugly to Ioreth, ‘you see he is happy to go."

"He is a baby," Ioreth exclaimed. "You could make a burping sound and he would find that amusing."

"I will have you know lady," Aragorn stared her straight in the eye, "my son finds it highly entertaining when I do that."

"Oh Elbereth!" Ioreth groaned, seeing no good coming from this endeavor.

"Ioreth," Aragorn said after he placed Eldarion in his harness and slung the entire contraption onto his back. "I know what I am doing. I am going to show my son the city he is bound to rule someday because I will not have him perched up here in an ivory tower, knowing nothing of the people whose fates he commands. I want him to know them as I know them, as I know you," he met her eye with a little smile.

Ioreth sighed, feeling her resistance give way to the charm of that smile. Even at her age, she was not overpowered by the presence of the man, even when he was behaving like a dullard.

  
"How long will you be gone?" She asked finally, caving in to his wishes against her better judgement.

"No more than a day or two," Aragorn grinned, grateful for her blessing even though as king he did not require it. However, since meeting Ioreth, she was the one person whose respect he had been determined to earn because Aragorn suspect she did not give it easily, even to her king.

"And you simply intend to walk about the city?" Ioreth stared sharply at him, "nothing else? You will not venture beyond it?"

Aragorn puffed up his chest as he gave her an impatient look, "I promise I will remain in Minas Tirith and will return in two days. I assume you are able to keep my departure something of a secret?"

"It will be difficult to do since the household is waiting with abated breath for your next unexpected appearance," Ioreth said dryly.

"No need for sarcasm," Aragorn gave her a look.

"There is plenty of need for sense but I do not see that being accepted either," the lady retorted.

Aragorn’s response was to ignore her and as he left the nursery with Eldarion on his back and his sword resting comfortably in its scabbard at his hip. As Iorethwatched the king of Gondor embarking upon his little ‘adventure’ she could not help but think that this entire affair would end in disaster.

* * *

After managing to slip out of the palace unnoticed by anyone, not an easy thing to do with a child strapped to one’s back, Aragorn entered the Minas Tirith he was seldom allowed to see. When he had first entered the White City, it had been during the War of the Ring and then he had come as the leader of an army. After he had been crowned king, the opportunity to truly familiarize himself with the place never came for his ability to blend into the background was greatly hindered by his title. As he moved through the streets, seeing people go about their day to day business with no inclination that he was anything but a father travelling with his son, Aragorn chided himself for not doing this sooner.

No one paid much attention to the tall man with the scraggly hair and clothes even more worn as he walked through the streets of the city. Women paused briefly to wonder at the child perched upon his back, thinking how sweet it was that he should carry his child with him but other than that, Aragorn raised little interest among his people. He did so taking deep breaths of air, tinged with the contrasting smells of animals, manure, food cooking and the equalizing fresh breeze that mixed it all into a unique scent that was uniquely Minas Tirith. Walking along the rows of houses and shops that framed the streets, Aragorn forgot how wonderful it was to be completely anonymous again.

He entered the marketplace and saw a large collection of stalls awaiting patronage beneath pitched tents. Everything from exotic foods to weapons was being sold and customers were swirling through them like flies, perusing all manner of wares on display. Aragorn found that it was easy to lose himself in the crowd and he joined his people in this endeavor, pausing at stalls, admiring what was being peddled. He purchased a nice iridescently shelled necklace for Arwen, thinking how the color would reflect against her skin and her eyes.

Freeing Eldarion from his confinement in the harness upon his back, Aragorn carried his son for awhile as they came to a stall whose main trade was the sale of livestock. While Aragorn had no need of cows, sheep or chickens for that matter, Eldarion bounced up and down in excitement at seeing the animals and so Aragorn saw no reason to take a closer look at the creatures. He had to confess to smiling as Eldarion patted the nose of a heifer with his tiny hands before breaking into a smile that could melt even Sauron’s heart.

It was at this point that Aragorn unwisely introduced his son to a litter of puppies awaiting sale.

A tan colored puppy with large ears and slightly disproportionate feet was soon on standing on its hind legs it he started lapping at Eldarion’s face, producing a stream of baby giggles from his son that was clearly delight. The creature itself was very engaging and Aragorn could not help enjoying the sight of his child stroking the pup’s sniffing nose. The whole scene was very heartwarming and reaffirmed his belief that this day out had been a good idea.

Until Aragorn tried to leave.

Eldarion began whimpering as the new toy was taken from him, staring at his father in dismay before bursting into tears.

"I think the babe is smitten," the heavyset man who was the proprietor of the stall said wearing the smug smile of triumph of one who knew a sale was eminent.

"I do not think so," Aragorn replied firmly, "he is too little for a pet."

Eldarion continued to bawl, drawing the attention of those around him, wondering what Aragorn was doing to the child.

"Oh I do not think so," the man drawled confidently. "Clearly, he thinks otherwise as well. This pup comes from good breeding; her mother and father were both animals with great loyalty for their masters. This child could have no better friend and companion."

"Buying a pet for my child is something that requires a joint discussion by myself and his mother," Aragorn answered seriously.

"You are the man of the house," the proprietor, who was very good at weakening resolved customers, declared loudly, "surely a man is a king in his own home. Show some spine; your son clearly loves the pup. You do not think that King Elessar would allow himself to be dictated to by his queen, would you?"

* * *

 

"You are going to get me killed," Aragorn stared disapprovingly over his shoulder at Eldarion who was smiling happily at the puppy who was following behind them on a leash. "How am I going to explain this to your mother? You she will not scream at but me? Do you have any idea what kind of mood she has been this past few weeks? Even a Balrog would run for cover."

Eldarion was oblivious to his father’s plight because he was too busy being entertained by his new pet.

"I suppose it is too much too hope that I will receive  _any_  sympathy from you in this matter?" Aragorn sighed, feeling his heart soften as the smile on his son’s face at the presence of the puppy who looked just as equally thrilled to be following them home.

"You expect me to name the thing as well?" Aragorn muttered as he left the marketplace, before anything else caught his eyes. Strangely enough, he thought it was with Arwen that he would have the problem of unwanted purchases, not Eldarion.

"We could call it Boromir," Aragorn remarked with a perfectly devilish smile. "However, I have a feeling Faramir would not be entirely impressed."

  
Aragorn fell silent as he decided that after a morning like this, a meal and a cup of ale was definitely in order. Selecting a tavern that was not too lively for Eldarion’s sake, Aragorn entered the confines of the establishment with the puppy following closely at his heels. The moment he entered the place, he drew the attention of the patrons within who stared at him with curiosity. After all, it was not often that they were treated to the sight of a grown man traveling with an infant and a puppy. Aragorn cursed under his breath, feeling his cloak of anonymity fall away like Pippin’s ability to keep to himself that Mr. Underhill was in fact Frodo Baggins.

Trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible, Aragorn found himself a table at the corner of the room, hoping the shadows in the place would make him blend into the background again. Fortunately the attention of the span of the average tavern customer was brief and the arrival of comely wench with half exposed bosom in a dress one size too small for her soon made him a forgotten issue and Aragorn could relax once again.

"Oh what a lovely baby," a tavern maid greeted as she came to his table to serve him.

Eldarion was resting comfortably in his harness which was resting on one of the free chairs, within easy reach of his father. Eldarion’s attention was still fixed on the pup who was patiently allowing the small child to tug gently upon its floppy ears as it stood against the chair on its front paws near the infant.

"Thank you," Aragorn answered, unable to keep the pride from his voice, "he is my son."

"He is so beautiful," the maid gushed as she took a moment to tweak Eldarion’s nose before being rewarded with a toothless smile. "Where is his mother?"

She was a pretty young thing, no more than twenty he wagered with hair the color of corn silk, a child Aragorn thought to himself as she stared at him with more than passing interest. If he was no so utterly in love with Arwen, he might have considered returning similar attention but since he was, Aragorn decided the best course of action was to be indifferent to her obvious designs upon him.

"She has gone away for a few weeks but will be returning soon enough," Aragorn answered politely, hoping that was enough to deter her interest.

Unfortunately, the lady had other ideas, "that is shame," she smiled at him with a suggestive smile. "I would have enjoyed keeping you and your babe company."

"I am certain you would have," Aragorn replied, "however, for now a meal is all that we require."

"A meal is what you will have," she answered, "but you if require more, I am certain that I can accommodate you."

Aragorn watched as she sauntered away before noticing Eldarion’s attention had drifted away from the pup to rest upon him. The child seemed to be staring at Aragorn with accusation in his eyes and, his small bow shaped mouth was curved in disapproval.

"Do not look at me like that," Aragorn defended himself. "I did nothing to encourage her. I cannot help it if I have always been a lure to the fair sex. You should have seen your Aunt Eowyn when we first met, she was mad for me but I had eyes only for your mother. It is a terrible curse to be constantly set upon by women who think me irresistible."

Eldarion did not speak but his expression spoke volumes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Arwen Evenstar was making known to the household that the Queen of Gondor had returned. Her journey to Ithilien had been cut short when a spate of bad weather a few days after they leaving the White City had seen hard rain against the mountain ranges of Emyn Arnen that made the possibility of a landslide a very real threat. Now that the rains had passed, her escort, Captain Darond had proposed returning home, to wait until the land had settled a few days before making the attempt again. Despite being disappointed at having her journey cut short so prematurely, Arwen could not deny that she was happy to return home to her king and her son. Even though she had been away from them only a few days, it had done her good to be away from things and she was now eager to be reunited with her family.

"My lady!" Ioreth greeted in the great hall as servants moved past her as they carried Arwen’s belongings to her chambers.

"Ioreth," Arwen said warmly, wrapping her arms around the woman in a warm embrace, "how good to see you."

"It is good to see you," Ioreth replied, genuinely pleased to see the Evenstar’s return although she was unaware of how Arwen would take the news of Aragorn’s ‘adventure’ into Minas Tirith. "We did not expect you home so soon."

"Well I did not expect to return so early but rains have been harsh against the mountains of Emyn Arnen, Captain Darond feared the rain may have loosened the earth and we risked being caught in a landslide if we continued." Arwen answered as she pulled away from Ioreth again.

"Then it was wise that you returned," Ioreth declared for it would surely devastate the king if anything happened to his beloved queen.

"So," the queen asked, looking about her and wondering why her husband had not yet come to greet her, "where is Estel?"

Ioreth debated how she was going to answer this. If it were councilors or other members of the court who asked for the King, Ioreth could respond easily enough, remembering what leave Aragorn had given her to keep his departure from the palace a secret, however, it was an entirely different matter concealing the truth from the Queen. "He is not in the palace," Ioreth responded after a moment.

"Not in the palace?" Arwen stared at the woman; "he has left the White City then?"

It was an understanding that only an emergency or a preordained trip would be reason enough for Aragorn to leave Minas Tirith. If there was any business involving the king in Gondor, more often than not, it would be settled here in the palace.

"No, he remains in Minas Tirith," the wise woman answered, finding it harder and harder to conceal the truth, particularly from an elf.

"Then where is he?" Arwen asked, experienced enough to know when someone was speaking to her with hesitation.

"He is in the city," Ioreth responded at last. "He was very lonely without you here my queen, so he chose to spend a day or two in Minas Tirith, traveling in the manner of ordinary folk, not as king."

"Oh," Arwen nodded, not understanding what all the fuss was about. "You need not appear so anxious revealing that to me Ioreth," the queen smiled. "My husband knows how to take care of himself. He has fought a great many of things in his time to be ever caught unawares by anything. Perhaps the time away from all this pomp will do him good. He is a wanderer at heart after all. Being a Ranger has left that mark upon him."

"Well that is good to know," Ioreth sighed with great relief, "I thought for certain you would be upset that he and Eldarion…"

"WHAT?" Arwen exploded cutting Ioreth off with that startled exclamation. "He took Eldarion with him?"

"Why yes," the older woman started to stammer and then realized that she had made an uncalculated error with that unwitting revelation.

"He took  _my son_  with him?" The Queen sputtered in fury. "Did you not try to stop him!"

"I did but he was determined that the boy see the world as he saw it," Ioreth struggled to explain and defend Aragorn at the same time.

"The boy is less than six months old!" Arwen exploded in fury. "He is still a baby! The only thing of interest to him at the moment is where his milk comes from!"

"I did attempt to point this out to the king but you know how he can be," the nurse remarked.

  
"Oh yes," Arwen grumbled as she stormed towards the palace doors again, "I know precisely how he can be. My father warned me you know, about the foolishness of men, but no, I was determined to have one for my husband! Estel is not like that, I told my father, he is sensible! Sensible as a post!" She concluded that statement in an angry spat that Ioreth was not brave enough to argue with under any circumstances.

"My lady where are you going?"

"Where do you think?" Arwen almost growled and it was a very disconcerting sound coming from an elf, "to find that dullard I married!"

* * *

Aragorn was regretting walking into this tavern for a meal. The serving maid who had propositioned him earlier did not give up easily and each time she passed his way, offered him another alluring smile of invitation that only needed him to say the word to realize a steamy, night of passion. If he were a single bachelor again, he might not have minded the attention but since he was a married man, presently in the company of his infant son, this was rather disconcerting. Instead, the king settled down to finish his meal promptly, ensuring that Eldarion and the pup were fed as he wolfed down his food in order to make a swift departure from the place.

"Are you certain I can get nothing for you?" The lady asked when Aragorn asked to pay.

"Nothing," Aragorn said indifferently, his eyes taking notice of a rather large woodsmen entering the establishment from the corner of his eyes. It was rather difficult to miss the man actually since on a good day he would most likely be able to meet Treebeard eye to eye. The behemoth swept his gaze across the room and came immediately to rest on the table where Aragorn was presently occupying.

"That is a shame," she sighed wistfully, her hand reaching for a lock of his hair to which Aragorn pulled away swiftly. "I would have liked to have gotten to know you better. It is so rare to see men who care enough about their children to keep them so close."

"My wife trained me well," Aragorn said stiffly, standing up from the table and reaching for Eldarion who had fallen promptly asleep after his milk. "I take my leave of you lady," he said graciously, tossing a few coins on the table in payment of his meal.

"Erzsébeth!" The giant bellowed as he saw Aragorn and the lady in each other’s company.

The woman turned around and barked with annoyance to the man striding towards her, "What do you want Illym? I told you that it is over between us!"

Aragorn watched the way the giant’s eyes narrowed as she made that declaration and was suddenly beset by a terrible feeling that things were about to turn  _very_ ugly if he did not leave right this instant.

"I love you Erzsébeth," the man pleaded desperately, "I will not lose you! Tell me what I can do to prove myself to you? What can I do to win your heart?"

"Nothing!" She hissed viciously, "you can do nothing for my heart has hardened against you words."

Aragorn attempted to retrieve Eldarion so that he could slip past the quarreling lovers while he still could when suddenly, he heard the giant respond curtly. With a sinking feeling, he knew that his promise to Ioreth to stay out of trouble was about to reach an abrupt end.

"Is that because you have found another? Have you bestowed your affections upon this scruffy, Northman? He looks like some kind of rogue!" the man accused Aragorn almost predictably.

"This rogue has more heart in him then you will ever have!" The lady came to Aragorn’s defense much to the king’s exasperation. "He is not afraid of being a father or having children!"

"I see," the one called Illym turned his angry gaze upon Aragorn once more. "You would steal my lady?"

  
"I would steal nothing," Aragorn declared hotly, his head swimming at how fast this situation had deteriorated to this point. "She is not mine to steal."

"You are right about that!" The giant roared and lunged towards Aragorn.

The king had barely enough time to leap out of the way before the table and everything on it went flying under the man’s bulk. Eldarion who was still on the chair was awakened by the commotion and immediately started crying at being roused from his sleep abruptly. Erzsébeth who was the center of this triangle let out an ear-piercing scream for her suitor to stop this violence that went largely unnoticed.

"Stop it Illym!" she shouted. "Leave him alone!"

"You would defend him!" he accused. "Who is he to you then? Has he captured your heart in my stead!"

"I have captured no one’s heart!" Aragorn growled in anger. "I came here for a meal! I do not have any designs upon her at all!"

The man turned to him and then asked, "is she not good enough for you?’

Aragorn let out a frustrated groan, "oh for the love of Elbereth! I do not wish to hurt you but if you persist on this attack, I will defend myself."

The giant’s response to this was to pick up the table and fling it in Aragorn’s direction. By now, Erzsébeth had picked up Eldarion, keeping him out of harm’s way while the puppy circled her feet as it watched cautiously the brawl unfolding before them. The tavern owner had sent someone running out the door as the rest of the patrons, formed a small island around the two men, watching the proceedings with great interest though none would dare become embroiled in the affair. They knew Illym and the strength of the giant’s rage when properly inspired and though they felt for this stranger who became unwittingly caught in the web created by the man and his lady, they were none to eager to face his wrath by involving themselves in the matter.

  
Unsheathing Anduril, Aragorn swung at the chair that was thrown at him and demolished the chair with one powerful strike. His opponent, somewhat surprised by the skill of his swordsmans skill, paused a moment before picking up another table and protecting himself as he advanced upon Aragorn. The patrons at that particular table scurried away as their plates clattered noisily to the floor. Aragorn saw the table coming at him and dove beneath it, managing to crawl through the man’s legs to the other side of him. Without wasting any time, Aragorn threw a kick in the center of the Illym’s back and sent him sprawling. Both man and table went crashing and when the behemoth attempted to stand, he found himself staring at a blade against his throat.

"I do not wish to hurt you," Aragorn repeated himself breathing hard, more out of annoyance then exertion. "But this foolishness will stop. I have no designs upon your lady and I believe that if you paused a moment to consider things instead of thinking through the fire of jealousy, you will know that I am right."

Unfortunately, the answer never came because at that instant, the local constabulary filed into the tavern and arrested them both.

* * *

Aragorn stared through the bars of the community gaol house and wondered if things could get any worse.

In the cell next to his, sat Erzsébeth’s suitor appearing just as disgruntled as Aragorn at the position they now found themselves in. Both men had been casting smoldering glares of accusation at each other that occasionally manifested itself as insults. Aragorn could not believe the situation he was in and wondered what his court would think if they knew the King of Gondor had been arrested for being disorderly in a public place. He would never live down the shame. Unfortunately, the embarrassment of his situation was the least of his troubles at the moment. The crime for which he was accused would mean he could find himself incarcerated for days and aside from the obvious inconveniences this would cause, what would become of Eldarion in the meantime?

Fortunately at present, Eldarion seemed to be the center of attraction in the gaol house as he held court with the constables who were charmed indeed by the babe. Aragorn supposed that he ought to be grateful they were treating Eldarion with such care but that did not alleviate the problem of his incarceration. As much as he loathed his next course of action because he had wanted to remain anonymous for as long as possible, he could not permit this play to continue any further. The role of the ordinary citizen had gone as far as it could, Aragorn needed to be king again to extricate himself from this situation.

"Constable," Aragorn went to the bars and peered at the man holding Eldarion in his lap. "Release me, I am King Elessar."

The chatter of those assembled fell silent with that statement as the constables looked at each other with astonishment before they all burst out laughing. Even Illymin the cell next door had erupted into similar amusement and suddenly Aragorn was visited with the notion that this day was about to get a good deal longer.

"King Elessar?" The Head Constable, a man name Laemir, stared at him with unhidden disbelief. "Whatever are you doing in a tavern accosting a maid?"

"I am the king," Aragorn smoldered, "you know very well that I was a Ranger well before I became King of Gondor. Did it not occur to you that I might wish to walk amongst people on occasion and I did not accost any maid!"

Even as he said it, Aragorn knew he sounded ridiculous.

"And I suppose this babe here is the Crowned Prince?" The man looked at Eldarion skeptically.

"As a matter of fact yes," Aragorn answered before being met with more laughing and sniggering following that claim. "Look, I chose to leave the palace with my son for a day. I do that on occasion, all I wish of you is to be released so I can return there."

"Now listen to me," the constable said sharply. "You are in a bit of trouble that will take more than a day to deal with once we see the magistrate. This attempt of yours fools no one and belittles yourself. Continue this nonsense and I will have impersonating the king added to your list of offences."

"I am not impersonating the king!" Aragorn hissed. "I am he! I am Aragorn Elessar, King of Gondor, I fought at Pelennor and at the Hornburg! If you do not believe me have someone summon the lady Ioreth from the palace and she will confirm this with you."

"I know the Lady Ioreth," Laemir returned tautly, "she is a good woman with long service in the House of Healing. She is too good to be bothered by lies such as yours. Now stop this charade and tell me how to get in touch with the child’s mother. I am certain she must be worried sick out of her mind that her child has been stolen by a lunatic!"

If she knew, he would be partially right, Aragorn thought to himself.

"That is my son!" Aragorn insisted, refusing to give up hope that he might convince the constable of his identity just yet. "The sword on that table which you have seen fit to confiscate from me is Anduril! It was the forged by the shards of Narsil, the blade that cut the One Ring from Sauron’s hand. I am who I claim to be?"

One of the other constables picked up Anduril that had been taken from Aragorn’s hand with the united effort of three of their number, two of which were nursing bruises to their face and were not at all impressed by it.

"The weapon does look as if it was reforged," the man remarked.

"So?" Laermir exclaimed incredulously, "that could be said of any sword! This man looks like he just came out of the wilderness! I will not for an instant believe this is King Elessar!"

"I am King Elessar!" Aragorn snapped. "When the kingdom goes to complete ruin while I am in here, you will have no one but yourself to blame!"

"I will try and live with the shame," Laemir retorted. "In the meantime, I am bound to turn this child to the local orphanage, until we are able to locate his mother."

"That will not be necessary," a new voice filled the room and if Aragorn thought he had been in trouble before this moment, he had grossly miscalculated his estimation of peril when he saw Arwen enter the gaol house, followed by Captain Darond.

  
Laemir’s jaw dropped open in horror as Arwen swept into the room, her presence filling its normally dreary confines with the glow of her beauty. There was no question that she was the queen for everything about Arwen spoke royalty and while Aragorn’s appearance might make it difficult to believe that he was King Elessar, Arwen’s could not be denied for she was the Evenstar and her beauty could not be mistaken for any other. The other constables had dropped to their knees, quivering in fear at the mistake they had made for, if the Queen of Gondor was here, then the man that they had dragged into the cell was indeed the King. Equally, while they were all reeling from the news, they were also entertaining fears of what manner the king would order their executions for their monumental mistake.

"You really are the king?" Laemir stared aghast at Aragorn with nothing less than horror in his eyes.

"I told you that I was," Aragorn said smugly but his triumph lasted briefly when he saw the look of cold fire in Arwen’s eyes directed at him.

"How did you find me? He asked her softly.

"Captain Darond did a little investigation and learnt that a man with an infant was arrested for brawling in a tavern. Since I know of no  _other_  male foolish enough to land himself in such a predicament with a child in his company, I immediately guessed it was you," Arwen retorted sarcastically.

Captain Darond ordered one of the constables to open the cell but somehow Aragorn felt safer behind bars.

"Would you please give me my son?" Arwen said sweetly to the constable but her tone was one that made no man present dare disobey, Aragorn included.

Mutely, Laemir handed Eldarion to Arwen who broke into a smile that captured the heart of everyone present as she held her babe close to her. Eldarion, familiar with her scent, immediately bounced happily in her embrace, recognizing the one person who offered him even more comfort than the father who was presently in the cell beyond his reach.

"Hello my love," Arwen cooed gently in her son’s ear. "Have you been wandering about the city with your imbecile father?" She said this is a tone so sweet, she could have been telling Eldarion a bedtime story as far as anyone was concerned.

"Undomiel, I can explain," Aragorn stammered.

"Explain?" She replied, still looking at her son, wearing a smile on her face and speaking in that soft dulcet tone. "Explain what? That you decided to relive your youth by taking our son out of his nursery and into the world without any protection whatsoever? If you wanted to go wandering about the countryside, you did not have to take Eldarion with you. He can barely sit up properly, how could you even think of taking him out the palace? Have you completely lost your mind?"

"I wanted to show him the outside world, beyond the gilded cage of the palace," Aragorn struggled to explain, further humiliated by the fact that this conversation was being carried out in full view of the gaol house’ occupants.

"And obviously you have done an excellent job since I find you here," Arwen met his gaze with an icy gleam in his eyes.

"That is not his fault, your highness," Illym suddenly made himself heard from the other cell. "If I had not involved him in a fight over my Erzsébeth, he would not be here. I thought he was attempting to woo her."

"Do… not… help…. me!" Aragorn snapped as Arwen’s brow arched tautly over that snippet of news.

"We are returning home NOW," Arwen said coolly, turning on her heels and storming away from the cell.

"Sire, I am so sorry! Please do not behead me or my men for this! We were only doing our jobs! It is our duty to keep order!" Laemir started to babble, his mind finally releasing him from his shock enough to form some measure of response to what was transpiring today.

"I do not begrudge you Constable," Aragorn sighed as he stepped out of the cell and was given a thoroughly sympathetic look by Captain Darond who knew what the King was about to endure at the hands of his queen. "Let us put this behind us shall we?"

"Aragorn!" Arwen barked as she reached the door, "we are  _leaving_."

"Yes Undomiel," he said meekly and dropped his head like a condemned man on his way to his execution.

"Wait," one of the constables called out before either Arwen or Aragorn could leave the room. "Do not forget your dog."

"Dog?" Arwen asked. "What dog?"

Aragorn swore under his breath as he came to the realization that while his day was over, his night was just beginning.

Frankly, he would prefer the cell.


	3. The Ceremony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is set in the days following the fan fic Easterling. It deals with an OFC romance, though not what I consider a Mary Sue. However, if OFC’s are not to your taste, you can skip this chapter, it won’t make any difference to the rest of the story. Those of you who do decide to stick around – Melia is a former Ranger who married Legolas at the end of the Easterling. This was after debating with the agonizing decision of marrying an elf that would outlive her and would mourn her all the days of his life, after her passing.
> 
> Eden Ardhon is the v name I gave to the colony Legolas established in South Ithilien.

 

 

"I thought we not going to do this," Melia stated unhappily as she stared at the apple in one hand and a knife in the other.

"I had not planned on it," Legolas frowned with just as much ire, looking around his surroundings with clear disapproval of their present situation.

"This is entirely your fault," she declared firmly, sinking the blade deep into the flesh of the fruit.

"My fault?" He stared at her pointedly, "how pray tell is it  _my_  fault?"

"I do not know," she turned a stormy eye upon him, "but since we are now married now, I might as well enter the spirit of things and blame you for everything."

"At last," he returned just as acerbically, "I finally recall why I chose to remain  _unwed_  for three millennia."

"It is too late now," she offered sweetly with a smug expression. "We are both in the same soup."

Legolas let out a heavy sigh and regarded his wife of just two months; "this cannot be as bad as we think."

"Then why did we agree not to do this before? You promised we would not have to endure this nightmare. What we did together was binding enough, not to mention simple and discreet. This is more fanfare than either of us would like," Melia accused him even though she knew it was not his fault that they were faced with this predicament. Circumstances had simply evolved to its present condition without either of their unwitting assistance.

"Well I had to tell you  _something_ ," he replied just as smugly, "how else would I get you to bed me?"

Predictably, she smacked him on the side of the arm with her jaw dropped slightly open in outrage. However, the moment lasted briefly and her eyes narrowed in calculation, "that proves how much you know. You need not have promised me that and I would have  _still_  bedded you."

"They are our friends and family," Legolas replied, attempting to use sentiment to crack her belligerence, "they mean well."

"And it is that thought alone that keeps me here at your side, instead of taking my horse and heading for the hills. I hear the Shire is nice this time of the year," she offered him a little smile.

Despite their acidic remarks to one another, husband and wife cherished each other deeply. To an observer, their banter appeared rather cutting at times, however, in truth it was merely a little bit of playful mischief they both indulged in whenever together.

"That is good to know," he returned her smile with one of his own and then confessed, "I am not looking forward to this any more than you are."

Legolas and Melia remained where they were for a moment, exhaling deeply as they remained where they were, terribly aware of what awaited them once they left the safety of its surroundings. They had been married but only a number of weeks, little over twos month actually. The ceremony where they had bound themselves to each other had been a private affair where golden rings were exchanged with none of the fanfare that should have taken place when an elven prince was wedded.

Melia was still rather skittish about the whole notion of being his wife, despite her realization that she loved him and she wanted to spend her life with him. Legolashad not wanted to overwhelm her with the pomp and fuss that came with an elvish wedding and decided that a simple ceremony would serve them well enough. They had married in Eden Ardhon with only a few elves in attendance as witnesses though it was hardly necessary. As far as elves were concerned, the consummation of their love in the flesh was binding enough without the need for ceremony. This would have suited Legolas and Melia well enough for they were both very much in love and did not need a ceremony to symbolize their union, however it was only proper that they made some effort to celebrate their marriage.

Unfortunately, this view was not shared by everyone as Legolas was soon to learn after making the mistake of sending news of his marriage beyond the borders of Eden Ardhon to his friends and to his father.

What had transpired following the sending of this intelligence to Gondor, Ithilien, Mirkwood and Rohan respectively had set in motion a sequence of events that had now avalanched into the predicament that awaited Melia and Legolas beyond the walls of their temporary refuge.

"We should have kept it secret," Melia remarked, aware that she was speaking to delay the inevitable.

"How so?" Legolas stared at her. "Were you going to run and hide under the covers of our bed each time someone happened by?"

"You know what I mean," she gave him a look.

"Who knew my father would be so upset," Legolas shrugged, still smarting from the sharp cuff about the ear he had received from Thranduil when the King of the Woodland elves decided to pay his son an unexpected visit following receipt of the news. It appeared that although Thranduil had disapproved of Legolas’ choice to bind him to a mortal woman, there were some traditions that could not be ignored even if the woman his son had selected was not to his liking. It was considered extremely bad manners for the Prince of Mirkwood to bind himself in the flesh to any woman without so much as a ceremony to mark the day. Three thousand years old he might be but when Thranduil yelled, Legolas might as well have been ten years old again caught sneaking into the ladies chambers for a peek.

"How is your ear?" She asked, aware that it was a very sensitive appendage and a cuffing would have hurt considerably.

"Sore," he muttered unhappily, his pride was more injured then his ear.

"When this is over, I will sooth your pain," she said sympathetically.

  
"That is minor compared to what awaits us when we join them," he retorted glumly, starting to feel his own optimism waver.

The first thing the king had demanded upon arriving in his son’s realms was that they be married, "properly" as Thranduil put it. This demand was not aided by the fact that Aragorn, King of Gondor and supposedly his best friend, echoed the same sentiments in a return message following Legolas’ announcement. Faramir and Eowyn had actually arrived in Eden Ardhon to make their objections to their quiet ceremony known in person. Actually Eowyn had arrived, Faramir was more or less a reluctant travelling companion. Before long, Thranduil had found a fellow conspirator to plan the wedding that neither Legolas nor Melia had wanted.

Traditional elven weddings required a feast to be shared between the two houses that were to be united. Since Melia had no house to speak off, the friends she had made since arriving in Middle earth filled this void. Like a general sending his troops to war, Thranduil was directing Eowyn to make his son’s wedding ceremony a spectacle that would be remembered for the next century, much to the chagrin of both Legolas and Melia. What was worse, the elves of Eden Ardhon were soon similarly captured by the fervor of upcoming nuptials and it was not long before husband and wife found they were the only people left in the colony who did not look forward to the event.

* * *

 

Eden Ardhon was still a collection of half finished constructions, winding uncompleted around the great trees that made up the wood of South Ithilien. While not as foreboding or as thick as Mirkwood, South Ithilien’s trees were still impressive indeed and it had been Legolas’ intention to build a city very much in the spirit of Lothlorien. Thus most of the fledgling buildings were constructed in great deference to the trees. Some were aloft in the magnificent branches of the larger trees while others were on the ground, framed by the thick canopy of leaves overhead.

"Father, this great wedding you desire is not possible!" Legolas has beseeched Thranduil as the king voiced his plan for the evolving nightmare of this wedding. "Eden Ardhon is far from being able to host a gathering of the size you wish. Our buildings are barely completed. My people are living in tents like wanderers!"

Thranduil frowned unhappily, forcing to accede to Legolas’ point that far at least, but not quite prepared to give up entirely. The elven lord’s eyes moved across the half made colony around him and saw that his son was quite correct, many of the structures being built were weeks away from completion. Indeed most of the elves in Legolas’ colony had created for themselves make shift homes with tents that were given shelter under the canopy of branches and leaves around the larger trees. Numerous such tents were scattered throughout the expanse of the half built city and Thranduil was struck with the memory of his earliest days in Mirkwood, when he had first established his kingdom there.

"You are right," Thranduil nodded though his eyes were still fixed upon the spread of green above their heads. It was as if the forest had reached up and ensnared the sky in veil of lush vegetation. Beams of sunlight peeked through the spaces through the branches and leaves, illuminating the tiny specks in the air like fire flies. It was a pretty place that his son had chosen to build his city and even more so with the tents pitched in the background. There was a sense of beginning about what he was seeing and Thranduil wondered if this was what it had been like for the Quendi when they had first emerged from the Mere of Cuiviénen?

"Then you will forget this whole idea?" Legolas dared to hope.

Thranduil gave his son a look, "of course not! We will simply have it here out in the open."

"Out in the open!" Legolas exclaimed with exasperation. "You wish to have a huge wedding feast when there is not even a roof to put it under?"

"I do not remember you being so pensive about everything," Thranduil rolled his eyes. "I had hoped marriage and the attentions of a wife particularly in the bed chamber would allow you to relax a little. Honestly, it bewilders me how I sired such a serious child. I blame your mother – she stopped feeding you at the breast too soon."

"You have no idea how much I truly  _did not_  need to hear that, father," Legolas retorted with an expression of distaste on his face.

"Fine but I will tell you what you  _do_  need to hear." Thranduil turned to face Legolas, wearing an expression of his own upon his face and was one that the Prince of Mirkwood was very familiar with. It was one that told Legolas that he was about to be told how things were, whether or not he liked it. "You chose to marry this young woman whom I do not doubt loves you as much as you love her, despite my objections to the fact that she is mortal and any union between the two of you will only end in tragedy. I accepted your choice though it pains me to know that it will only serve to bring you grief someday. However, since you have chosen yourself a bride, you  _will_  show the proper customs that is demanded of someone of your station. You may be the Lord of Eden Ardhon but you were the Prince of Mirkwood  _first_  and my son so you will obey me in this Legolas, I will have you married in accordance with the traditions of our people. Is that understood?"

He stared at Legolas hard with an unflinching gaze. Suddenly Legolas Greenleaf, one of the nine walkers in the Fellowship of the Ring, the hero who fought at the Hornburg and Pelennor Fields, felt as if he were a child again, unable to do anything under the intimidating power of his father’s voice but obey.

"Yes Sir," he swallowed thickly.

"Good," Thranduil smiled, patting his son on the back now that they got that little point cleared up. "Now that is settled, we will having the wedding here in the open. It will be under the stars and surrounded by the forest. We will have a feast the likes of which has not been seen before and at the end of that feast, you will be married in a traditional ceremony."

Seeing that he had no choice in the matter, Legolas nodded glumly and that muttered, "I still do not know how we are to house our guests. It seems terribly rude to make them endure tents. It is cold this time of the year."

"We will manage, most of our guests will be elves and we are folk accustomed to the stars over our heads. I suspect that since the King of Gondor was so vocal about the lack of celebration regarding your marriage, I doubt that he will miss the event now that we are undertaking it. From all you told me of King Elessar, he is no stranger to the wilds, not when he was a former Ranger."

"No," Legolas agreed, "however, the Evenstar is with child so travel may not be so easy for her."

"Nonsense," Thranduil retorted with a snort, "women are much stronger than you think. Why the things your mother and I used to get up to when you slumbered in her belly," the king smiled devilishly.

"Once again," Legolas stared at his father, "you have no idea how much I truly did not wish to hear that  _either_."

Thranduil threw up his hands in exasperation and declared, "would this suit you better? One day your mother and I were walking through Mirkwood and there you came, an infant in a basket being borne on the backs of two squirrels…"

"Sarcasm does not become the King of the Woodland elves," Legolas said sourly.

Thranduil ignored his son’s quip, far more interested in the space they were presently standing it and how it could be utilized to serve as a makeshift banquet hall. He knew that he was driving his son to distraction but Thranduil was more concerned with observing the proper traditions for the marriage because honestly, Legolas and Melia would need all the blessings they could get. Thranduil was by no means a superstitious man but a small part of him hoped that the grace of the Valar’s blessing upon his son’s union with the former Ranger might help to avert the inevitable tragedy of their future together

"Now we must set to work on the invitations at once," Thranduil continued, his mind moving at a juggernaut pace. Normally this sort of thing was the purview of the boy’s mother but in her absence, Thranduil was required to take her place and there were more than enough enthusiastic members of Legolas’ colony to aide him in this endeavor.

Legolas shifted uncomfortably into resignation at what would happen with or without his consent and decided that he might as well have some say in how the affair was to be conducted, particularly to the guests he wished to attend the ceremony. "Then I would have Gimli there, I believe he is still in Minas Tirith building Aragorn’s gates. It would be nice if the hobbits could be present but I doubt that they would be able to make such a long journey."

"I think I can presume upon Gwaihir to aid us by bringing them here if you wish them to attend," Thranduil replied, please to see that Legolas was making his own wishes known and he was also aware of how dear the Shire people were to his son. He himself had a fondness for the halflings after his encounter with the Ringbearer's cousin during the Battle of the Five Armies. He still had the gift presented to him by Bilbo Baggins.

"What of your lady?" Thranduil inquired, "has she anyone she would like to attend this gathering?"

"No," Legolas shook his head. "She has no family to speak of, although that is not necessarily a bad thing," he muttered the last part under his breath, staring at Thranduil with narrowed eyes who did not notice to jibe made at his expense and if he had, was doing his best to ignore it.

"Fortunately Pallando is here with us, so we can be assured of entertainment but if we must, we will procure more from the White City. They do not necessarily have elven sophistication but I supposed that beggars cannot be choosers."

"Nicely put," Legolas retorted, dreading the circus this wedding was rapidly evolving into and feeling completely powerless as it spiralled more and more out of control with each passing moment.

Thranduil looked over his shoulder at his son, noting Legolas’ less than enthusiastic manner to the event. "Do not worry son," Thranduil remarked, resting his hand on Legolas’ shoulder, "I will take care of all the arrangements. When the day arrives, you will have nothing to worry about, I promise."

* * *

 

"Nothing to worry about indeed," Legolas snorted as he thought about Thranduil’s promise. "I should have known better."

Following Thranduil's decision to hold the wedding feast beneath the stars, it seemed as if the entire colony had come to a standstill because the only thing anyone was remotely interested in was the festivity. Legolas had to remind himself that his father meant well, that Thranduil was not purposely attempting to usurp his authority and there had been more than one occasion where Nunaur, the captain of his guard, had been forced to take the bow from his lord’s hands to save Legolasfrom doing something unfortunate with the weapon. This was no easy feat for Nunaur considering Legolas’ temper flared quite frequently over the next few weeks as preparations for the wedding continued around the Lord of Eden Ardhon.

Melia was unprepared to think ill of Thranduil when all his planning had come to fruition so beautifully despite their ambivalence to the whole affair. The marquis under which the banquet was to be held had been decorated beautifully with flowers and dusted with all the glitter and splendor that could be managed of elves. It looked far more inviting than any feast held within four walls and suited the personality of the couple it was honoring more than either would like. Still she could not deny being intimidated by the prospect of being the center of attraction. It was hard enough living with elves, knowing that each and everyone of them had seen times she could not even hope to dream.

"You have to admit," she gazed at her prince. "Your father accomplished an astonishing feat by arranging this day. I did not think it was possible to accommodate this gathering, not to mention house them properly for the length of the festivities."

"Never underestimate Thranduil," Legolas frowned, "in the end he always get his way in all things. However in this instance he received a good deal of help from my supposedly loyal subjects.

‘They are loyal," she pointed out, "what they did, they did out of love for you."

"I would have preferred if they did not encourage him," Legolas retorted.

"Do not blame them completely or Thranduil for that matter, Eowyn is as much to blame as your father," Melia pointed.

"True," Legolas agreed as they sat facing each other. Between them a plate of fruit was their only sustenance and Melia continued her efforts peeling the apple of its skin. Legolas watched her hands deftly cut the green from the white flesh, aware that her delicate hands could cut flesh with similar ease and wondered at the paradox that she was and they were together. "I had no idea that she had such talents."

"Beneath the heart of every shield maiden, there is a matriarch awaiting to emerge," Melia smiled and she slipped a sliced piece past her husband lips, "I can see her presiding over a household of children someday."

"Poor Faramir," Legolas shook his head, "she overpowers him."

"I doubt it," Melia retorted, wondering how he could be so long lived and yet so wrong at times. Of course he was male and allowances had to be made, even if he was an elf. "Faramir enjoys playing spectator to Eowyn’s endeavors. He loves her dearly but sees no reason to insinuate himself upon her until it is required. I think when he puts down his foot, the whole of Ithilien quakes."

"Rather like it is with us?" Legolas offered her a teasing smile.

"In your dreams," she said sweetly.

"We could slip away from here," his brow arched in suggestion. "Take the horses and ride. I am certain we would find ways to occupy ourselves." He picked up a slice of apple she had cut and slipped it past her lips.

Melia took a bite, chewed a little and swallowed before answering him, "what happened to us being able to endure this?"

"I came to my senses," he replied.

"We are cowards neither of us," Melia sighed, feeling herself being pulled to the lure of his words. "Why is this so difficult?"

"It is not," Legolas confessed. "We simply make it that way for ourselves. Our friends have come a long way to see us, we should not be hiding away like children."

‘We are not hiding," Melia corrected him quickly, "we are merely taking a rest from the festivities."

"Please," he gave her a look. "We stole food and went for the first hiding place we could think of – I think in the common tongue, that is referred to as hiding."

"It was your fault," she declared defensively. "You allowed this to happen."

"I allowed this to happen? Are we back to thing being entirely my fault again?" He asked tersely.

"Yes," she pouted. "I can think of no other place to lay the blame."

"You could have told Eowyn that you did not wish this spectacle either," Legolas pointed out. "I did not see you protesting when she was making preparations around you?"

"Have you ever attempted to reason with Eowyn when her mind is determined?" Melia demanded. "I tell you, if will alone was capable of moving mountains, Eowyn could singled handedly displace the Misty Mountains into the Western Sea."

"You could have beseeched Faramir for help," Legolas reminded, not about to have the sole blame for this nightmare placed upon his shoulder.

"I  _did_  ask Faramir to help," she hissed. "He told me to endure it like a Ranger."

Legolas almost laughed at that but he reminded himself that she had a knife and  _knew_  how to use it. "It is a lovely dress though. I had no idea how lovely you look in elven clothing."

"Why thank you Prince," Melia replied. "I cannot believe I married such a silver tongued charmer."

"Be grateful that you only endured a dress fitting," Legolas complained. "I was introduced to the charming Gondorian custom where it was necessary to drink oneself completely ill before the night of one’s wedding. I am rather surprised that Aragorn managed to remain standing during his wedding to the Evenstar."

Melia started to chuckle, recalling in what state she found him the night before and could not deny that there was much reason to laugh even though her amusement was producing a dark expression on his handsome face.

"Am I to assume you will never let me forget what transpired last night?" He glared at her.

"I only regret that I did not have an artist put it to canvas," Melia giggled. "I am certain generations to come would pause and admire the Lord of Eden Ardhon at his very best."

"So much for sympathy from my loving wife," the elf grumbled. His activities the night before was part of the reason, fruit was the  _only_  thing he could eat safely without turning as green as his name.

"Your loving wife?" She stared at him. "In the condition I found you? You were lucky I did not cuff you myself! Am I to understand that in order to marry me you were willing to punish yourself  _that_  much?"

"At this moment, I can  _very much_  understand my reasoning," Legolas quipped back, not wishing to think too much about the night before.

What of it he could remember anyway.

* * *

They say it was tradition among the men of Gondor to celebrate an impending marriage in this way, however as far as Legolas was concerned, it was merely a good excuse to imbibe too much draught. In any case, Legolas had little choice but to endure it since he was the guest of honour in the proceedings. It appeared to be the one tradition that  _all_  the males attending the ceremony were happy to participate be they men, elves, hobbit or dwarf. While it did not surprise Legolas in the slightest that Aragorn, Faramir, Eomer, Merry, Pippin, Sam and Gimli were happy to indulge themselves in his supposed honor, the prince was rather astonished to see his father and Celeborn taking part in the festivities.

As it was, Legolas was somewhat surprised to see Celeborn leaving Lorien to attend the ceremony but supposed after giving the matter some thought that Celebornwas not likely to refuse an invitation made by his neighbor and another elven lord. It further surprised Legolas that though Celeborn had attended the wedding, Haldir was absent and had sent his brother Rumil in his place instead. Legolas would have thought that the march warden of Lorien would be certain to come since his younger brother Orophin had joined the colony when Legolas first set out from Mirkwood. However, Legolas could not deny feeling a little glad at the elf’s absence since Haldir had paid entirely too much attention to Melia than Legolas would have liked.

Like everything else about this wedding, the celebration took place outdoors for it was the agreed consensus of all that any kind of drinking binge should take place well out of the hearing of their women. Thus, they gathered at a small clearing near the banks of the river that Legolas often used with his men for camping whenever they went hunting for game or for orcs. It was not very far away from Eden Ardhon but there was still a good measure of isolation in its locality that the males engaging in this particular custom required at this time.

A fire burned in the middle of their campsite with food and drink having been laid out by those charged with wedding preparations prior to their arrival. The moods around the fire was one of relaxation, with everyone enjoying a moment of rest after the labors of travelling to attend the ceremony as well the preparation that went into making it happen. The Fellowship still remaining in Middle earth was joined by Thranduil, Celeborn, Orophin, Rumil, Elladan, Elrohir, Pallando and Eomer. Legolas had feared this ‘custom’ of Gondor would result in a wholly undignified and embarrassing display of inebriation but thankfully he was wrong. The gathering was one of relaxation and good humor.

"You see," Aragorn said with a smile as he rested beneath the foot of a tree, "this was nowhere as bad as you thought? Was it?" The King of Gondor appeared very much like the Ranger as he sat there with his mug of draught in his hand.

"No it is not," Legolas had to confess as he sipped gently at the dwarf draught that Gimli had brought specifically to the wedding for this evening. He was careful to imbibe it in discreet amounts, aware of what happened to him the last time he drank the stuff in large quantities. "But then so much of this occasion has spiraled out of my control," he remarked a little more sarcastically then he intended.

"Do not think I am unaware of who you refer to when you say that my son," Thranduil retorted, taking a perverse delight in inspiring his son’s utmost chagrin. "I am rather surprised that you were even good enough to tell us that you and the lady were even married at all."

"Yes," Legolas stared at his father with narrowed eyes, "after all, it turned out  _so well_  when I did."

"Think of it this way," Aragorn added with a little smile, "at least you have some measure of dignity in all this, for Eden Ardhon is not that peopled. Imagine if you had been forced to wed in Minas Tirith? Arwen and I considered eloping."

"Elrond would have had you recaptured and bound before you even reach the gates of the White City," Celeborn joked with a lopsided grin that indicated that he was no better with dwarf draught than Legolas, despite being far older than any of those present save perhaps the Istar Pallando. "Deny his daughter of her wedding? You were lucky he did not shoot you full of arrows the first time you spoke your feelings about my grand daughter."

  
"He did give me that look," Aragorn chuckled, remembering the gleam in Elrond’s eyes when he had first looked upon Aragorn as a potential suitor for his daughter’s hand.

"Yes," Elladan nodded. "You were fortunate he only told you to go reclaim your kingdom before you could marry Arwen. You should have heard his  _first_  response to your feelings for my sister."

"His first response?" Aragorn stared at them questioning.

"I do not recall specifically what was said," Elrohir grinned mischievously, "but I am certain the words spoken had some involvement with waiting until Beleriandsurfaced from the sea again before allowing that scruffy looking man child anywhere near the Evenstar."

  
"Scruffy looking?" Aragorn groaned, "why does everyone say that?"

"Because you could not see yourself and we could," Legolas retorted with a grin, glad the focus was taken off him a little.

"It is hard to remained perfectly groomed in the Wild," Aragorn declared haughtily, "is that not true Faramir?"

"Leave me out of this," Faramir quickly replied. "I will not get drawn into this discussion, it will only end badly for me."

"But when you were a Ranger, your camp was behind a waterfall," Samwise Gamgee pointed out. "You would be able to bathe all the time."

"One does not get undressed a good deal when being that close to Mordor," Faramir pointed out. "The only thing worse than dying is to be captured by orcs in the flesh, literally."

"I think I would rather take the death," Merry shuddered in disgust, grateful that nothing like that happened when he and Pippin were captives of the Uruk Hai.

"Do not worry," Gimli said with devilish gleam, "I think they prefer full sized people anyway."

"That paints such a disturbing picture in my head that I think I need another drink," Legolas replied pouring more of the dwarf concoction into his glass. Actually, once one got accustomed to the unrefined taste of it, the draught was rather good.

"Be careful with that," Aragorn warned. "You know how you are with drink."

"Indeed," Thranduil was inclined to agree, having never seen his son imbibe very often, if at all. "The last thing I wish is to have you suffering its consequences on the day of your wedding."

"Trust me," Legolas gave Thranduil a look, "I cannot imagine how much more I could suffer."

"Wait until she decides to plan a wedding for one of your friends," Faramir muttered while downing his drink and showing clear signs of being affected by it, "then you will know true suffering."

"You should not say such things," Thranduil stared at the Lord of Ithilien. "The Lady Eowyn has been most helpful throughout all this."

"I have never seen her this way," Faramir remarked, marveling at the transformation that Eowyn had undergone since becoming Thandruil’s unofficial aide in the wedding preparations. "She is like a woman possessed. There was a time I could speak to her as if she were one of my Rangers or councilors, but since this wedding, all I have been able to get out of her is whether or not the tent matches the tablecloth. It is very disturbing. When this is all over, I would like back the woman I married, the one who could teach me a thing or two about the sword, not about the merits of matching place settings."

"I would have liked my lady to come with me on this occasion," Gimli confessed, feeling a little disappointed that Lorin had not deign to journey form the Glittering Caves to join him at the wedding. "However, women of my kind do not like to leave home."

"I would like to see what a dwarf woman looks like," Pippin remarked. "I don’t think in all the travelling that we’ve done, that we’ve ever seen one."

"They keep mainly to their caves and do not wander greatly," Aragorn explained. In all his years of traveling he could count the number of times he had actually seen a female dwarf and even then he still was not certain if it was a  _female_  he had seen. Female dwarves, not only dressed like their males but tended to look the same as well, however, that was not an observation he was about to bring up in front of Gimli, not unless he wanted to be on the receiving end of an axe.

"You know how women are," Sam remarked. "I couldn’t get Rosie to come either."

"I think it was the fact that she would have to get here on the back of an eagle that put her off a little Sam," Merry pointed out.

"Well I wasn’t terribly thrilled about it either," Pippin retorted darkly, remembering the humiliating journey to reach Eden Ardhon.

"You should not complain," Thranduil gave the hobbit a look and a stare of that intensity was not something a hobbit could endure for long. "I had a terrible time apologizing to Gwaihir for that  _mishap_."

"Mishap?" Merry started to laugh, "he retched all over that poor eagle! I was certain Gwaihir was going to throw Pippin off."

"In any case," Thranduil rumbled unhappily. "It appears that you will be riding horses back to your lands."

"I think I rather that anyway," Sam answered. "Maybe I could see what a lady dwarf looks like after all."

"My Lorin would be most happy to receive you," Gimli said proudly, never one to refuse the chance to show visitors the Glittering Caves.

"Oh before I forget to mention it," Aragorn turned to the King of Rohan, "Prince Imrahil wishes to see you when you journey back with us to the White City."

"How is he?" Eomer inquired. In order to attend the wedding, he had ridden from Edoras to Minas Tirith, with little time to pause and socialize before setting out again. Although Eomer would have liked very much to pay a call on Imrahil, there had not been enough time for that if he desired to attend Legolas’ wedding.

Aragorn let loose a sly smile, "I have it on good authority that he wishes to marry of his daughter, a great beauty by the name of Lothiriel."

Eomer seemed to grow a shade paler, "and pray tell what does this have to do with me?"

"Take a wild guess," Faramir sniggered.

"Ho, ho," Merry started to laugh. "It appears that Legolas will not be the only one getting married. Perhaps we will gather again for your nuptials Eomer."

"I have not even met the girl!" The King of the Mark started to stammer.

"Might I suggest that you employ Eowyn in the business of arranging the celebrations," Legolas added with no small measure of satisfaction. "The lady is quite adept at managing a spectacular event. Is that not true father?" He gazed at Thranduil snidely.

"She certainly managed here and it will warm my heart seeing you taking center stage tomorrow," Thranduil returned just as sweetly, reminding Legolas that his ordeal was long from over.

"Oh no," Faramir started to groan. "I do not think I can endure Eowyn arranging  _another_  wedding."

"There is not going to be a wedding!" Eomer exclaimed exasperated and his ire was further heightened by the look of resignation everyone was giving him. "I am not getting married!"

"Of course not," Aragorn replied with a completely straight face.

  
Eomer looked at him suspiciously, "are you simply saying that to make me feel better?"

Aragorn smiled faintly, "of course I am."

Suddenly, Eomer felt like he needed another drink.

* * *

Legolas’ promise to stay sober lasted as long as it took for Eomer to convince them all that he was not going to be married any time soon, which was to say not very long since they all knew better. Usually when someone had gone to all the trouble to arrange any kind of union, particularly between royal houses, it was more or less a formality for the groom or the bride to actually give their approval. Since Eomer had been King for sometime, there was no way that he could escape impending matrimonial bliss unless he suddenly revealed to Imrahil that he found Elladan rather attractive, which was not entirely true but after five mugs of dwarf draught, seemed like a perfect solution his problem. Unfortunately, Elladan, who though quite drunk, was not in such a state of blind stupor that he would admit to take part in such a plan.

At some point throughout the night, restraint was discarded completely. While Thranduil, Pallando, Sam and Celeborn snored harmlessly, the younger members of the gathering decided that this would be a grand time to go on an adventure. At least one last adventure before Legolas and Eomer (who was still protesting that he was not getting married) were tied down to a wife for good. Deciding that they never really got to see the insides of Baradur since Frodo had destroyed the One Ring before they were capable of storming its Black Gates, the entire group decided that it was to Mordor they would go.

That Mordor was several days away and that they were all drunk did not once enter their thoughts.

Taking all that could be carried, the remaining three bottles of draught, the party left their gathering place, choosing to enter Mordor by following the River Pourosand then across Ephel Duath, penetrating the ring of mountains that surrounded the dark lands. They were almost to set off when they realized that they would probably need weapons, since none of them were armed. Orophin remarked that Gimli’s breath alone would have killed a dozen orcs and to this Legolas concurred since he was on his knees so many times that he was actually the correct height to tell the difference. Aragorn claimed he would need Anduril for not only was it the sword to fight orcs but when brandished correctly made him look very kingly indeed.

Thus the party entered Eden Ardhon, attempting to sneak quietly into what they believed was the armory to gain their weapons. Unfortunately, too much alcohol had greatly reduced Aragorn’s sense of direction and instead, they wandered unwittingly into the tents occupied by the entertainers Thranduil had brought from Minas Tirith for the wedding feast the next day. A cry of alarm was sent through the entire colony when the acrobats, believing that they were being accosted by orcs in the dead of night, since all their foes had terrible breaths, used their skills to fight off their attackers.

Rushing to the aid of their brethren, the fire breathers, the jugglers and the knife throwers soon joined the fray. Within minutes, a battle was being waged that involved bodies spinning through the air, colorful balls flung back and forth like projectiles and small, impractical knives barely missing drunken targets. Meanwhile Elladan and Elrohir, tackling one knife thrower, were leapt upon by a fire breather, who nearly set the tent alight in his efforts to aid his comrade. The hobbits, not about to let the twins suffer the indignity of defeat by a pudgy man capable of breathing flame, soon banded together and brought down him down with their small but efficiently pummeling fists.

All this activity brought down the tent, smothering the fire breathers and ensuring that no balls or knives were thrown, as the entire group struggled beneath the canvas, hurling abuse and indignities at each other. One voice, possibly belonging to Eomer or Aragorn, demanded to know why Legolas would keep  _balls_  in the armory while another voice, most likely an abused acrobat, wanted to know since when Orcs had such fine blond hair. With no discernible weapon in their keeping, a battle cry echoed through the colony with a distinctly Gondorian accent, telling one side that it would take more than wooden balls to defeat the Fellowship.

It was during all this chaos that Nunaur managed to mobilize his guards to deal with the situation. Melia and Eowyn, still clad in their night dresses but sufficiently armed, braced themselves to fight as they saw the march wardens of Eden Ardhon remove the tent under which the fierce battle was taking place. Once it was removed, they were treated to the sight of tangled limbs and displays of hair pulling, ankle biting and balls trapped in places where there should be  _no_  object of any kind.

 

"Faramir!" Eowyn cried out, recognizing her husband’s head locked around the legs of an angry acrobat. "Is that you?"

"You come in good time!" Eowyn heard him shout, "hand me your sword and I’ll do away with this shape shifting orc!"

"Shape shifting orc?" Eowyn and Melia muttered looking at each other.

Eowyn shook her head in disgust and then went to rescue her husband whose first response upon being freed told her that they were going to Rohan.

"Rohan?" She managed to ask, pushing his mouth away as he attempted to kiss her with his alcohol drenched lips.

"Yes, your brother is getting married." Faramir grinned.

Somewhere, from under the two acrobats and one juggler piled on top of him and past the throat his hand was wrapped around, Eowyn heard her brother shout, "NO, I’M NOT!"

"Oh can you smell them?" Arwen made her presence known as she reached the scene of the commotion. Terribly pregnant, she did not move as fast as the rest of the elves who were attracted to the noise and were staring in stunned disbelief at the scene before them.

"I think Morgoth in the void could smell them and I believe mine requires assistance." Melia nodded, seeing a familiar lock of blond hair peering through a mountain of bodies. She took a step forward and motioned Nunaur to her. Reaching her hand through the rapidly disintegrating heap, she soon found what she was seeking.

"I have him," she told no one in particular.

Pulling Legolas past the disengaging embrace of a juggler who was latched around his foot with Nunaur’s help, the elf burst into a dazed smile when he was under the light of the stars again.

"I think," he said to Melia just before he passed out, "I am getting accustomed to this dwarf draught."

* * *

Melia was still sniggering as the memory of how she had found him, produced a smile across her lips. Of course, she, Arwen and Eowyn derived some measure of satisfaction by the suffering of the party this morning when the full consequences of too much drink impressed itself upon them. The colony had split into two factions, those who were still unable to stop laughing each time one of the gathering came into view and those who could do nothing but stare in horrific disbelief. It had taken of Arwen’s charm  _and_  Thanduil’s gold to keep the entertainers from leaving after the previous night’s activities and a promise to help them recover all lost balls and knifes.

"Does your head feel any better?" Melia asked gently, feeling a little guilty for amusing herself so much at his expense.

"Do you even care?" Legolas pouted, wondering at the bite marks on his wrist and wondered which one of the acrobats had given him that bruise.

"Of course I care," Melia answered caressing his cheek lightly and kissing him on the lips, "I just wonder whether or not Sam would care to add this chapter in his book about the Fellowship."

"Remind him of it and I will leave you," Legolas warned, feeling even more embarrassed when Melia started to laugh again. The last thing he needed was for the next ten generations to be reminded of what had happened last night. As it was, he was going to have a difficult time enough, trying to block the memory from his own mind.

"Think of it this way," she added after a moment. "At least you did not try to lead the charge against the shape shifting orcs."

Legolas’ face grew an even deeper shade of red as he recalled Aragorn’s battle cry. "I never thought I could be so ashamed of my behavior."

"Do not worry yourself," she patted his shoulder sympathetically, "you will never have to fear jugglers or acrobats again."

"Very funny," Legolas retorted and looked around their surroundings. "How long do you think we can hide here?"

"I do not know," Melia shrugged, "I am certain that the ceremony would be starting soon."

"I would not be surprise if they are scouring the colony for us," Legolas smiled as he picked up the last piece of fruit between them.

"Probably," Melia sighed, "we cannot remain hidden like this forever."

"I know," Legolas agreed. "Sooner or later they are going to find us."

  
"You mean sooner," Aragorn’s voice suddenly broke through the rustling of fabric of the tent they had been hiding in. They had chosen Thranduil’s tent under the notion that it was the last place anyone would suspect the bride and groom to take refuge.

"Hello Aragorn," Legolas smiled nervously, "how surprising it is to see you here? Were you looking for my father?"

Aragorn stared at him through narrowed eyes and a sore head, "Legolas, you should be ashamed of yourself and you too Melia."

"We were taking a moment," the Ranger attempted to say.

"A moment?" Aragorn snorted, pushing his way past the flaps and sitting down before both of them. "You have the entire population of Eden Ardhon awaiting for your arrival at the ceremony and the captain of the guard, being driven to insanity by Thranduil who insists he find you! If it did not occur to me that you would seek as your sanctuary, the last place anyone would look, I would be still searching as well!"

"I suppose we should brave this," Legolas sighed meeting Melia’s gaze.

"How bad could it be?" Melia shrugged.

"Well if you linger here any longer and your father finds you Legolas, it could be very bad indeed," Aragorn reminded.

"You are a true friend," Legolas gave him a look.

"I know," Aragorn replied, "and as I a true friend, I am compelled to do this." With that, the king of Gondor poked his head out of the tent and shouted loudly, "I FOUND THEM!"

Legolas shook his head in resignation and met Melia’s gaze, "to think, I fought at his side."

"Come on Prince," Melia replied taking her husband’s hands. "The sooner we get this done, the sooner you and the King can resume your invasion of Mordor."

Both man and elf exchanged glances with the same thought crossing their minds.

  
 _Wives_.


	4. The Master of Bag End

There were strange curtains on his window.

Not plain curtains with a single color that was understated and proper for a single gentlemen living on his own but rather floral curtains, with large pasty coloreddaisies imprinted across sky blue fabric. Frodo stared at the curtains for a few minutes, wondering what had happened to the plain, green gingham curtains he had been accustomed to seeing for so long. There were sensible curtains for gentlemen that were trying desperately to regain his reputation as a sensible hobbit. It was bad enough that Frodo was now viewed with the same eccentricity that had dogged Bilbo following his return to Shire from his adventures abroad, without his routine being disrupted by unexpected changes in his household.

Like these curtains.

It was his own fault he supposed he had brought this upon himself. When he had asked Sam and Rosie to move in with him, Frodo had not considered the ramifications of having two extra people sharing his life. He only thought of Sam’s happiness because his best friend was torn by his loyalty to him and his love for Rosie Cotton. After everything that Sam had done for him, Frodo was determined to spare Sam the ordeal of having to choose between them by making the offer of having Sam and Rosie come live with him at Bag End. Only after the deed was done, did Frodo realize what a big change it was going to have upon him personally to have not only Sam living with him but Rosie as well.

It never occurred to him that there would be vast differences in sharing a house with a woman as opposed to a man. Why should it? For years he had lived with Bilbo and they had got along quite well, without the slightest hint of discord. Their routine was comfortable and familiar, with no unexpected surprises, quite a feat when one remembered how peculiar Bilbo could be at times. Even after Bilbo had gone and Sam was a regular visitor to Bag End, Frodo had found it perfectly pleasing to have the gardener about, sometimes even to stay. However, from the moment Rosie had entered the hobbit hole in Bagshot Row, her impact upon the household was marked and unlike anything that Frodo had experienced before whenever he had company to stay.

The curtains were only the latest in a long list of trials that Frodo had been forced to endure since giving the couple a place in Bag End. For starters, how is it that women did not recognize the concept of simply enjoying the quiet after an evening meal? Frodo was accustomed to putting up his feet and reading a book or working on his after dinner. For him, it was one of the last pleasures of the day before turning in for the night. However, it was almost impossible to do now with both Sam and Rosie occupying that time with him and insisting on conversation as if he was starved for it. Worse yet, they were newlyweds and their talks seemed mostly fixated upon telling him how wonderful the other half of their couplet was.

It was enough to make him regret ridding himself of the One Ring.

Unfortunately, conversation was not the worst of it. Frodo wondered if perhaps Sam and Rosie would have benefited from a honeymoon first before moving straight into Bag End because the first few nights with them under his roof was more than he was able to handle. After all the things he had seen in his life time, what with Nazgul, barrow wrights and Shelob, Frodo had never thought he would fear so much the sound of the bed creaking next door in the middle of the night. During these occasions, Frodo would dive under his pillows and try not to think about the fact that Sam and Rosie were probably engaging in all sorts of intimacies in the next room. Nor was it easy to remain in good humour when he woke up the next morning, irritated and weary after being unable to sleep for more than a few hours when Rosie and Sam were so cheerful after their twilight antics.

Frodo knew he was being a little selfish. After all, one could not simply invite others into one’s life without expecting to be  _some_  changes but this was really not what he had expected. It was bad enough that he did not always feel well and lately the frequency of his spells was starting to become difficult to hide. He did not want Sam to be intruded by the knowledge that he was not getting better but worse because Sam had endured enough by accompanying him to Mordor to destroy the ring. Still, Frodo did not know how much longer he was going to conceal his illness from his best friend, when he was having trouble hiding the fact that Sam and Rosie were driving him insane by his inability to cope with them in his home.

  
Now as he stared at the curtains that he was quickly growing to despise with a passion, Frodo did not see the day improving and decided that perhaps what he needed was to get out of the house for the day. The illness he would confess to no one, not even Sam was keeping him indoors more than he liked. While he spent this time working on his book, Frodo could not deny that part of his ill temper of late was due to the fact that he was becoming a little house bound. Considering the adventures he had endured in recent years, one would think that he would happy to take refuge inside his home but the truth was, Frodo had become accustomed to the open spaces and what was more, he missed it.

Peering through the windows, he saw that it was a beautiful day outside and resolved himself to enjoy it and put aside his troubles with Sam and Rosie for the time being. He could think of nothing more relaxing than to work on his book in the sunshine. He used to love sitting under the party tree for hours but that was now impossible after it had so cruelly been cut down during Saruman’s unfortunate occupation of the Shire. Fortunately Sam had planted some of the seeds that Galadriel had given him in Lothlorien and now the glade was covered in mallorn saplings that were flowering sporadically. Frodo could think of worse things than to spend an afternoon surrounded by that loveliness.

"Good morning, Mr. Frodo," Sam’s voice interrupted his evolving plans for the day.

"Good morning Sam," Frodo greeted his best friend in the world.

Sam was always up a good deal earlier than he, preferring an early start, as was the practice of any good gardener. Certainly that was his Gaffer had always told him anyway. Sam entered the kitchen, glad to see Frodo had a little color his pallor though not much. Ever since they had returned from Mordor, it did not appear as if Frodo was recovering the way he should and it was part of the reason why Sam had been so torn when it had come time to marry Rosie. As much as he loved Farmer Cotton’s daughter, he could not deny that a part of him that would always feel bound to take care of Frodo.

"Got some fine apples out of the tree," Sam announced as he went to the kitchen, carrying a bucket full of the fruit. "If we’re lucky, Rosie can make us pie for dinner."

  
"That would be nice," Frodo found that he quite liked that possibility. Despite the fact that the woman had invaded the sanctity of his kitchen by removing his plain, comfortable curtains and that her presence in the house with Sam ensured Frodo could again never think any noise at night to be innocent, he had to admit she was a marvelous cook. Personal differences aside, when it came to food, he was still very much a hobbit.

  
"Oh I see you’re admiring the curtains Rosie put up," Sam pointed out, mistaking completely the reason why Frodo had been staring at them when he entered the kitchen.

"Yes," Frodo’s mood darkened at the memory of the offending fabric but reminded himself that Rosie had probably meant well. "I did notice. Its very nice,’ he lied through gritted teeth.

"Oh I’m so glad you like it Mr. Frodo, I was a bit worried to tell the truth. I didn’t think Rosie ought to be changing things without asking you first," Sam replied, relieved that Frodo did not mind, after all it was an imposition enough that they were both living here.

"It’s alright," Frodo answered, unable to stay angry when Sam was so concerned. "It was a bit of surprise but I’ll get use to them."

"She just wants to fit in so badly," Sam continued to speak as he put the kettle on the fire. "I mean it was so terribly kind of you to let us stay here. If you didn’t I don’t think we would even be married yet. Rosie’s determined to see to it that you never regret letting us come to stay in Bag End."

If Frodo could have cursed under his breath, he would have.

Sam could not have made him feel guiltier even if he tried. If Frodo did not know Sam as well as he did, he would have been inclined to believe that Sam was trying to make him feel badly but the stouthearted gardener was too noble for such manipulation. Frodo released a resigned sigh, determined to endure the teething problems that came with suddenly sharing a home with others for the first time because the alternative would hurt Sam too much and that was something Frodo would not do, no matter what.

Frodo sat down at the kitchen table, allowing himself to enjoy the pot of tea that Sam was obviously preparing for him. He could not hear Rosie in the house and assumed that she was at the market doing the daily shopping. Frodo had become accustomed to her shopping for dinner early in the day and mentally wondered what she was cooking this evening. He was grateful that Rosie had taken over the chore of cooking because frankly after their journey abroad during the quest, Frodo could honestly say that he had his fill of Sam’s cooking and was more than grateful for a change.

"She will Sam," Frodo answered his best friend and surprised himself by his own sincerity, "its new for all of us. I mean I thought I would be living alone again when we got home, like I was when Bilbo left, but things have changed and now you and Rosie are here with me. Its taking me some getting used to.’

"You don’t regret it then?" Sam looked at him, his eyes meeting Frodo’s.

"No," Frodo shook his head. "I don’t."

Frodo did not think he could hide his true feelings so well from his friend. Did he regret asking Sam and Rosie to stay? No, not really. However, he did miss his privacy and the fact that he no longer felt like master in his own house. As he watched Sam and Rosie, deliriously happy together, with delight in every moment they shared in each other’s life, Frodo felt like the intruder and it was a disconcerting feeling indeed to feel like the guest in one’s own house.

* * *

The uneasiness stayed with him and finally drove him out of the house.

Carrying a small satchel with loose sheets of paper and his quill set, Frodo left Bag End behind him and walked down into the field where the party tree had been. Instead of trees he had known all his life, he saw instead the mallorn tree that was growing from the seeds that Sam had brought from Lothlorien and the beauty of it was enough to touch even a soul as jaded as his. A sense of sadness often lingered with him whenever he saw the field, not because Saruman had torn down the party tree but because it was the last place he ever felt truly comfortable in the Shire. The night after the party had changed his world forever even if he did not know it.

He found himself a comfortable place before the dark thoughts in his head started to drain the color from this beautiful day. One of the other trees that had been planted was a still sapling, but was blessed with more leaves then the others and though the shade was minimal, it was enough to suit his purposes. Frodo sank into the soft grass, taking a deep breath of the sweet smell the golden flowers of the mallorn seemed to produce. He felt the heat against his skin and decided that whatever troubles he was experiencing at the moment at home, was not so formidable when faced with such beauty before him.

Reaching into his satchel, he made a mental catalogue of the notes he needed to jot down for his book when suddenly his fingers recoiled at the sensation of moisture at the bottom of the leather pouch. Investigating further, Frodo let out a groan when he saw the lid to the small bottle of ink he carried inside the satchel had somehow come undone and the dark fluid had leaked through the rest of its contents. The sheets of paper were a soggy dark mess and completely unusable. The sight of them made Frodo utter a string of foul curses that was an unfortunate remnant of his time in the Black Tower. Even the birds perched in the tree overhead decided to take flight in disapproval.

When Frodo retrieved his hand from the satchel his fingers were black as if he had stuck them in the coal bin. Of course the first thing he did, without thinking was to wipe the offending stain on his hands across his trousers before realizing too late that he had succeeded in smearing the ink all the fabric. The words that came out of his mouth then put the former curses to shame. Unfortunately, this time it appeared that his audience was not birds but rather a handful of children who were staring at him with an older female companion, with eyes wide like saucers.

"Mr. Baggins!" The woman whom Frodo recognised to be Violet Proudfoot exclaimed with clear mortification and Frodo was almost driven to swear again when he remembered what had earned her ire in the first place and restrained himself.

"Miss Proudfoot!" He started to stammer. "I didn’t see you there."

"Obviously," she snorted, "I would not imagine you would use such language in front of children if you did!"

"I’m sorry," Frodo struggled to explain himself as the children gawked at him, wondering if it was another language he had spoken. Frodo was glad that much of what he had uttered was not decipherable to their sensitive ears, though the same could not be said for Violet Proudfoot who was one of Proudfoot’s granddaughters and the school mistress of the Hobbiton School. " I had a bit of an accident," he responded meekly.

"I would say you had a big accident," she snorted and then glanced at the stains on his clothes. "And I do not mean with the ink."

Frodo gave her a look and noted that she had not left, bracing himself to hear more stinging barbs from her over his lapse in front of the children. He did not know Violet Proudfoot very well because she had lived for a time with some of Proudfoot’s relations in Bywater and that was before he had left the Shire to undertake the destruction of the One Ring. She was a pretty thing with dark hair and comely features, though she could never be considered a great beauty. She wore the look of someone who had seen the best and worst of life and was changed forever by it. It was a state of being Frodo could understand most intimately.

"If you’ll excuse me," Frodo replied, deciding that the best place for him was home right now because he did not like the way Violet was looking at him and feared that she might be another one of those women who thought he was a man ripe for the picking.

The bane of his existence since returning home from abroad, was discovering what an eligible bachelor he had become in the wake of his travels and the Battle of Bywater. Before the Quest of the Ring, he had never had to worry about such things because he was considered a peculiar hobbit in much the way Bilbo was regarded. Unfortunately, his position as Deputy Mayor and his part in reclaiming the Shire from Saruman had suddenly made him very attractive as a potential husband. Frodo had thought being maimed by Gollum would spare him the indignity of this but it appeared that it was not to be.

"I think that would be best," she remarked neutrally, her expression showing no interest in him whatsoever but that meant little, Frodo had come to learn that these women knew how to hide their intentions until it was too late.

"Good day Violet, children," he said politely and started to walk away, bound for home to clean himself up and to escape her while he still could.

"Lemon juice," she spoke before he could draw to far away from her and her charges.

"Excuse me?" Frodo turned around and faced her.

"Lemon juice," Violet replied. "Its good for ink stains."

"It is?" He stared at her.

"Yes," she nodded. "I speak from experience."

He supposed as a schoolmistress accustomed to dealing with books and the written word, she probably did have a considerable experience in such matters. He took her words as just friendly advice without suspicions of any clandestine intentions on her part.

"Thank you," he managed to say.

"I would not leave it too long though," she added, giving him the nudge he needed to leave without any further awkward attempts at conversation.

Frodo nodded and continued on his way, looking over his shoulder long enough to see that she was also on her way across the field with the children outdistancing her quickly as they ran through the saplings. He thought about her for a moment, feeling somewhat unsettled by the encounter and not quite knowing why. Nevertheless, he forced thoughts about her out of his mind because if there was anything in this world that he did not need right now, it was female company. As it was, trying to get accustomed to Rosie and her curtains was trial enough.

And he had thought going to Mordor had been  _hard_.

* * *

After returning home for a change of clothing and to soak the ones soiled by ink, Frodo decided he would try again for his day under the sun. To his surprise, he found that the application of lemon juice to the stains  _did_  go a long way to removing the ink from his clothes. Reminding himself to thank Violet the next time he saw her, Frodo prepared to leave Bag End for the second time. Unfortunately his efforts were hampered by a lack of ink, since the mishap earlier had drained what supplies he had left. Certain that the Fates were conspiring against him, Frodo was muttering in annoyance when he left Bag End bound for the local goods store in order to purchase fresh supplies.

It took an hour of his time to finally acquire new ink for his notes before he returned to the field again, staring furtive glances about as he moved through the trees, determined that he would not get pinned by either children or Violet Proudfoot again. Frodo supposed the simpler solution might simply be to find another place for his sojourn but having been driven out of his house because of Rosie’s presence, Frodo was determined to give concession to no other woman invading his personal space. He trudged through the grass telling himself this with great conviction while at the same time, keeping a vigil almost as sharp as when he had been pursued by the Nazgul. However, had Sauron’s minions caught him, the worst that could happen to him was his death.

If Violet and others like her snared him in their web, the worst they would do was  _marry_  him.

Frodo shuddered at the thought, images of a sacrificial lamb being brought to the some barbarian altar, trussed up helplessly as a gaggle of women, all armed with a bouquet on one hand and rings far more dangerous and binding that the One Ring, in the other. It was enough to give a gentleman hobbit terrible nightmares. Not that he was adverse to the whole idea of marriage of course; it was just that he had come to the conclusion that it was not for him. Having a dark lord run rife over one’s brain had the tendency to drive away the need to share one’s thoughts with another being. Frodo had just about enough of sharing himself then he could stomach and had no desire endure it again, no matter how pleasant it might be.

Seeing no signs of Violet or any other female, Frodo let out a sigh and eased back under the same tree he had been sitting under when his day had started to go askew, feeling the midday sun warming his face. In the distance he could see the top of Bag End peering over the crest of the great hill. He looked at the blank page before him and jotted down the notes for his next chapter, having to do with the journey the Fellowship had taken. Despite the peril of their quest, Frodo could not deny that the one good thing about the entire endeavor were the friends he had made and knowing that together, they had truly shaped the future of Middle earth.

He thought of Aragorn Elessar who would always be Strider to him, who had more names than Frodo had waist coasts in his cupboard, wondering whether the kingship would see to it that the man would bathe more frequently. Unlike Legolas who could fall headfirst into the mud and still step out of it looking cleaner than all of them put together. He wondered if there was some elven enchantment that prevented dirt from sticking to the skins of the Eldar. It was probably the same magic that ensured all that long hair did not end up in unruly tangles. The elf and Gimli the dwarf made such a curious pair, Frodo thought to himself with a little smile and hoped the two still traveled together in the world outside the Shire.

He thought of how they had argued during the quest, with such intensity that taxed even Gandalf’s impatience. It was during this time that Frodo was actually concerned that Gandalf had developing an addiction to Southfarthing leaf since Legolas and Gimli’s arguments coincided with Gandalf suddenly needing to ‘go off somewhere for a smoke’ as the wizard often put it. The person, who coined the warning to never meddle in the affairs of wizards because they were quick to anger, obviously had never seen one whose supply of weed was about to be exhausted. Frodo wondered how Gandalf was faring out there in Isengard and wished to see the wizard again. Hopefully the next time he did Gandalf again, he would not find himself embarking upon some perilous quest.

Gandalf seemed to have that effect upon all the masters of Bag End.

Perhaps he ought to warn Sam, Frodo thought.

With the memories of the Fellowship fresh in his thoughts, Frodo began to jot down the notes for that particular segment of his book, finding his writings gaining momentum the further he traveled down the page. Before long he had outlined a good deal of the chapter and was rather pleased with himself when suddenly, he heard someone calling out his name.

"Mr. Baggins!"

Frodo stopped writing and looked up to see one of the Bolgers ambling towards him. The former Ringbearer let out a little curse under his breath once again that he did not have the One Ring with him. At times like these, the invisibility of Sauron’s Master Ring had decided advantages, particularly when he did not wish to deal with yet another father with an unmarried daughter, cousin, sister, etc.

Jobbin was fat and did not walk but waddled. He was rounder then was normally expected of hobbits and Frodo remembered Bilbo once saying that he could have competed with Bombur the Dwarf of Erebor for size. Considering how much trouble Bombur’s weight had been during Bilbo’s journey to the Lonely Mountains, Frodo decided that this comparison did not bode well for Jobbin. What was worse, it appeared that Jobbin was not the only one in his family who suffered from this malaise because his children and indeed his wife were just as round, though to a lesser degree.

  
"Jobbin," Frodo responded when the hobbit finally reached him. "What can I do for you?" He asked wearily.

"Well," Jobbin smiled, his grin plastered across his face for the occasion. "My cousin Della is coming to dinner next week form Frogmorton and she would dearly love to see you. It’s been so long since the party."

In truth, Frodo doubted he had  _ever_  met Della Bolger at Bilbo’s party but remained silent nonetheless since it would be rude to point that out and catch Jobbin in an obvious falsehood.

"Yes it has," he lied for the benefit of Jobbin’s dignity. "I don’t think I can make it though. I’m due to visit the Thain next week and I’ll be gone for most of it. I’m sorry."

It was at this particular moment that he heard another voice calling out to him giving rise to the question whether  _everyone_  in Hobbiton knew what he had planned to do today. As luck would have it, approaching them was none other than Pippin and Frodo began to wonder if he was truly cursed with misfortune today for it appeared that the one person who could unravel the hastily crafted lie he had told to Jobbin was suddenly approaching them.

"Hello Frodo," Pippin greeted him cheerfully and added a similarly enthused greeting at Jobbin. "Hello there Jobbin."

"Why Master Took," Jobbin exclaimed, "we were just speaking about the Thain."

"You were?" Pippin raised a brow at that. "What about?"

Frodo was sending him furious eye signals to remain silent but as always, Pippin was not the quickest when it came to interpreting such hidden messages and appeared oblivious to Frodo’s desperate efforts to warn him.

"About Mr Baggins going to visit the Thain next week."

Pippin opened his mouth to respond when suddenly an arm struck him across the throat silencing anything he was going to say when Frodo chose that moment to stretch out his arms in a yawn.

"Oh Pippin!" Frodo apologised as Pippin doubled over and started to cough loudly. Frodo patted him on the back, attempting to help him overcome the injury while Pippin struggled to speak but could not quite manage it in his fit of coughing.

"I am terribly sorry, I didn’t meant to hit you!" Frodo declared, feigning false shock at what he had done.

Pippin’s response was another bout of coughing that made Jobbin take a step back as if Pippin had acquired something he might catch.

"Well that’s too bad," Jobbins said hastily as he tried to speak through Frodo’s efforts to aid Pippin who was doubled over. "Maybe next time."

"For certain," Frodo said distracted, feeling terribly guilty he was forced to resort to violence in order to spare himself the indignity of being forced to endure the company of Jobbin and his family for an evening.

The round hobbit was soon on his way and Frodo turned back to Pippin who had stopped but appeared very red in the face from the ordeal.

"What was that for!" Pippin exclaimed in a hoarse demand before Frodo could speak.

"I’m sorry but I had to keep you quiet," Frodo replied apologetically as Pippin shoved him in annoyance, not understanding at all and quite irate. "He wanted me to go meet his cousin Della next week and I couldn't think of anything other than to tell him I was visiting down your way."

"And for that you almost collapsed my windpipe?" Pippin snorted, giving him a look as he rubbed his throat tenderly.

"I’ve never even seen his cousin Della!" Frodo exclaimed, desperate to be forgiven for actions.

"Yes, I have actually," Pippin had to confess though his ire had been elbowed in the throat had yet to fade, much like the pain of it.

"What is she like?" Frodo was almost afraid to ask.

"Well," Pippin hesitated in his answer because it was not in a hobbit's nature to be intentionally unkind. However, neither was it in their nature to lie either, to their friends anyway. "Picture Jobbin in dress."

"You see why I was driven to such lengths," Frodo grumbled, grateful that he had managed his narrow escape but not that he had elbowed Pippin to do it, well not entirely. "I've had these invitations ever since I became Deputy Mayor. Its most disturbing."

"I don't know why you're fighting it Frodo," Pippin stared at his friend and cousin. "After all, its not like you could not use a little female company after everything you’ve been through."

"Oh not you too," Frodo groaned. "I've been hearing enough of that from Sam!"

Pippin was firmly of the belief that Frodo should indulge himself a little after the quest of the One Ring and the burden he had endured to see that terrible task accomplished. Pippin himself had also been inundated with the attentions of many of the Shire girls since returning home and he could not say that he was avoiding their efforts because he was enjoying it too much. However, his eyes was fixed firmly one Diamond of Long Cleeves and that had simplified things for him considerably.

"Its true though," Pippin pointed out. "I mean you do  _like_  girls don't you?" The hobbit looked at Frodo suspiciously.

The question earned him another jab from Frodo, this time across the back of the head.

"It was just a question!" Pippin declared rubbing his head. "After all, you've been alone for a long time and you've never been known to keep company with many women!"

"Because I was discreet!" Frodo snapped, mortified that his masculinity was being called into question. "A gentlemen does not discuss his affairs with anyone. Anyway, I have no wish to go courting!"

"Fine, fine," Pippin threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "I'll say no more about it but I thought with Sam and Rosie in the house, newlyweds and all, you'd probably wouldn't mind a little bit of…."

"Finish that sentence and you will regret it," Frodo glared at him. "Trust me,  _that_  is one thing I do not need. I've been listening to it enough all night since they were married! What I need more than a woman, is a good night's sleep and some time alone!"

"All night?" Pippin's expression became sly. "Do tell!"

"You're a lost cause," Frodo retorted shaking his head in resignation.

"I'm a lost cause?" Pippin gave him a look. "You should talk. You really are turning peculiar like Bilbo and not in a good way either."

"Was there some reason you sought me out Pippin?" Frodo glared at him, "or did you just suddenly develop this urge to irritate me for no reason?"

"Well that was that and the fact that Merry and I were going to take a ride out to Bree, thought you might want to come along." Pippin replied, suddenly remembering why he had sought Frodo out in the first place.

"To Bree?" Frodo's eyes widened. He had not been that way since they returned to the Shire. "What's there?"

"Nothing," Pippin shrugged. "Just thought we'd go for a little tip out of the Shire. It seems like forever since we left town for any reason."

  
"I might join you," Frodo replied, deciding that he would not mind a short trip away. "When we you planning on going?"

"In a few days," the young Took responded. "You think Sam will come with us?"

"I doubt it," he answered sincerely, "Sam's too interested in staying close to Rosie at the moment."

Pippin did not say anything for an instant and looked at Frodo thoughtfully, "you're not a little jealous are you?"

"Jealous?" Frodo stared at him. "What do you mean, jealous?"

"Well Sam does seem terribly happy," Pippin remarked, sounding a good deal wiser then he normally appeared. "And if anyone in the Shire deserves that kind of happiness, it’s you. Perhaps you feel just a little resentful that he's got what you should have."

Frodo did not answer because he was too concerned trying to discern whether or not Pippin's words had some kernel of truth in them, despite his desire to deny it outright. He could not refute that he did feel a little envious when he saw how happy Sam and Rosie were together and when he had been out there in the hellish land of Mordor, he had dreamt of the life that Sam was now experiencing. Yet even then, there was this inescapable feeling in him that knew such a life was beyond him and had been ever since the ring was passed into his possession.

"Maybe," Frodo answered softly, having no wish to admit to Pippin even if they both knew that some part of the Took's words were probably too. "But I am happy for Sam Pippin, really. Its just that I need peace and quiet and lately I don't seem to be getting any of it."

"Well that’s entirely your fault," Pippin replied, a devious smile crossing his face.

"How exactly is this my fault?" Frodo asked, aware that he was probably not going to like Pippin’s answer.

  
"Who knew you were going to be so irresistible to the ladies?" His friend grinned.

Frodo hit him again.

* * *

It was becoming enormously clear to Frodo that unless he acquired the One Ring again and turned invisible, a very unlikely possibility since he had gone to all the trouble of disposing of the troublesome thing, he was not going to go unnoticed by the rest of Hobbiton. After ushering Pippin away with promises of joining Merry and him for a trip to Bree sometime soon, Frodo decided to find another quiet place to continue working on his notes. So far his day had been one interruption after another and Frodo wondered if there was some great conspiracy afoot to ensure that he acquired no peace and quiet today.

With Pippin gone, Frodo forced himself to relax as he sat down under another sapling and began once again, the business of jotting down notes for the writing of his book. The silence of solitude allowed his mind to slip back into his previous train of thought and the words flowed easily once that was accomplished. He was feeling quite satisfied with himself and his progress, having structured the chapter he was working to some depth when suddenly, his happy mood was once again shattered by a female voice.

"Mr. Baggins."

Frodo let out a groan as he dropped his pen upon the paper and wondered who was it now that was intruding upon his privacy. He started to think that perhaps leaving his house had been the worse decision he had since deciding that the road to Moria was the best way to cross the Misty Mountains. Raising his eyes, he found himself facing Violet Proudfoot once again, although this time she was not accompanied by her students but was alone. If anything convinced Frodo that she was like all the other women who had turned their attention to him since his return to Hobbiton, it was that fact alone. No doubt she did not wish a youthful audience while she attempted to debase herself by trapping him into playing the part of her suitor.

"What is it now?" He asked, not all together politely but his temper was fraying at the edges and he really did not care to be polite any more.

The woman arched her brow tautly before answering; "I wanted to speak to you on a matter of some importance."

"And naturally, it could not be said with the children present?" He stared at her knowingly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I do not see why they should be present," Violet responded, still appearing confused by his ambivalence.

"Of course not," he stood up abruptly, dropping his papers and pen onto the soft grass as his eyes bore into hers mercilessly. "Why should they be present? All they would do is get in the way of your speech which I am certain you have rehearsed well."

"Rehearsed?" Her eyes widened.

"Yes, your kind often do," Frodo returned sharply. He was so incensed by this whole situation that his anger was sweeping him further and further away form rational thought. "You sit and plan what and how you are going to approach me. Some of you send agents to make the opening gestures, come in for a cup of tea Mr. Baggins or perhaps dinner, Mr. Baggins. Would you like to meet my cousin Mr. Baggins, she’s just moved up from Crickhollow. I know your intention dear lady and while I do not blame you for your actions, after all you are only behaving in the manner that is expected of your gender, I must tell you that I am utterly and completely uninterested in forming any kind of courtship with you!"

  
"Courtship?" She managed to say, her lips quivering a little while her hands at her sides had balled into fists.

"Courtship," Frodo hissed, missing all the signs of impending danger and this was saying something of a hobbit that had once faced evil on a scale beyond description and had survived. "I have  _no_  desire for a wife. I never have. I know that all you women seem to think that I am something of a prize but I have no desire to marry and I doubt I ever will. I am sorry to be so blunt with you Miss Proudfoot, but I will spare you the indignity of groveling at my feet for attention."

"Groveling at your feet for attention," she mused, nodding slowly as he finished his tirade.

"Now I apologize for being so forward but I have endured as much of this as I can tolerate. I am certain in time, you will find someone else to pursue but it will  _not_ be me," Frodo concluded. He was starting to question how she could be a schoolmistress when she said so little to his statement and seemed to be in the habit of repeating his words back to him. She did not appear terribly bright at all. Frodo feared for the education of the Shire children if someone like Violet was teaching him.

Suddenly, without any warning whatsoever, Frodo found himself at the receiving end of a solid punch that sent him sprawling and landing rather unceremoniously on his behind. The flaring pain at his jaw dissipated just in time for him to see Violet rumbling even more violently that Mount Doom when he had stood at its perilous maw. She was glaring at him with wide eyes and Frodo was certain that he could see smoke rising out of her ears because she appeared  _that_  furious.

"How dare you make the assumption that I wanted to court you!" she shouted. "I had no intention of any kind when I sought you out! However, since you did bring up the subject, may I clarify my position since you were so good enough to make yours known, even though I had no designs of any kind upon you?"

"You didn’t?" Frodo stammered and tried to utter something that might have been an apology but the words came out in gibberish. It mattered little anyway since Frodo doubted she would have heard him.

"First of all," she stood over him, hands on her hips. "You are strange! You walk around town with a cloud over your head and look as if you’ve just come from a funeral! I swear that if it were possible, it would rain just around you! You are peculiar and sullen even when you are attempting to be cheerful and while others might think you the catch of the day because you are the master of Bag End, I could not care less. I would like my suitors with something more than depression in their eyes! Secondly, after hearing your display this morning, I would not have anything to do with you even if you were the very last hobbit in the whole of Middle earth! No decent gentlemen would ever say the terrible words you did and in front of children no less!"

"It was an accident!" Frodo stammered, his face turning red with embarrassment at the realization that he had made a mistake of monumental proportions. Unfortunately, there was no escaping the catastrophe whose path he had mistakenly placed himself as he saw Violet standing over him, wearing that stormy expression of fury. "I thought…"

"I know what you thought!" She snapped not allowing him to finish his sentence. "You are not so terribly irresistible that every woman who sees you will fall immediately to your charms Mr. Baggins! How dare you make such an assumption with me? I have never been so thoroughly disgusted by any hobbit as I am with you! You are no prize despite what some others of my half witted gender might think!"

"But you came to find me," Frodo finally managed to get a word in after that rather lengthy tirade. He was rather horrified by this whole incident and wondered if his humiliation could get any worse.

"I came to find you because I wanted to see if you would give a talk to the children!" She retorted sharply.

"A talk?" Frodo swallowed visibly and decided that his humiliation could get worse, a good deal worse.

"Yes," she straightened up, staring at him like he was the lowliest thing she had ever seen and was still contemplating whether or not she was going to step on it. "I had heard Rosie Gamgee telling me of some of the far away places that you have been to in your travels. How you had seen the elves and were present at the inauguration of the Gondorian king, I thought you might come to the school and give a talk about it! I’ve had Pippin Took and Merry Brandybuck to the school and the children enjoyed their talks immensely! Mr. Brandybuck said that you have been further east then all of them and so I rather foolishly thought that you might be inclined to tell the children about your travels since you’ve been working on your book!"

"Oh," Frodo responded mutely, not knowing what else he could say.

"Well I certainly should have known better after hearing your foul speech this morning!" She snorted, turning on her heels, her skirt doing a slight flounce as she departed. "Good day Mr. Baggins and do not worry, I shall trouble you no more on this matter or any other!"

Frodo did not react until she was out of earshot before he let out a loud groan of dismay.

"Oh very well done Frodo!" He grimaced, feeling thoroughly humiliated but also ashamed at himself and at some of the words she had lashed at him, though for once he could not say that he did not deserve them.

"A fine mess you’ve made of things," he scolded himself at how he could make such an enormous misjudgment. Not only had he embarrassed himself and humiliated poor Violet, he felt terrible of what he had said to her and had no doubt that it would be across the Shire in a matter of hours. Honestly, he did not wish to be pelted stones each time he passed any unmarried woman in town which was exactly what would happen if Violet told the story of their disagreement to the rest of Hobbiton.

His face was still aching and he touched the tender skin where she had struck him, somewhat deservedly, he was forced to admit and knew that there would be swelling later on but for the moment, he had more pressing concerns. Above him, the sky rumbled a little and he knew that the sunny day had evaporated around him. It was probably chased away by Violet’s foul mood he told himself. Collecting his things, he saw some flowers growing on the bushes and helped himself to a handful as he hurried after the woman was rapidly storming her way across the field with more speed than the weather overhead.

  
It did not take Frodo long to find her. She was not quite at the edge of the field and Frodo was grateful that he did not have to face her in view of town because he had quite enough embarrassment for one day. He had no desire for an audience being privy to the apology he was going to have to make to sooth the lady’s anger.

"Violet!" He called out.

She paused in her steps and turned around, her face still twisted in that angry scowl.

"That’s  _Miss Proudfoot_ to you, Mr. Baggins," she declared hotly when he reached her.

"Look I’m terribly sorry," Frodo started to apologize, "Miss Proudfoot. I really did not mean to be so rude. I just wanted to say that I would be willing to give that talk now."

Her eyes’ widened. "How very good of you but I do not think that is necessary.’

Frodo felt scalded at his efforts being slapped back in his face. "You are a hard woman Violet Proudfoot," he found himself saying. "I was trying to apologize!"

"Nonsense!" she snorted. "You are merely attempting to assuage your own guilt at your terrible behavior!"

"I am not!" Frodo retorted, wondering how a schoolmistress could be so unforgiving. "I should not have made those comments and you are right, I was presumptuous about your intentions but you have no idea what I have endured these past weeks!"

At that, she seemed to soften a little and her carriage, straight and ready for battle slackened a little, "perhaps I am too hasty in condemning you," she sighed, the anger bleeding out of her face as she met his eyes. "I accept your apology."

"I’m glad," Frodo smiled a little and was pleasured when he was rewarded with one from her. "I brought these for you," he said producing the handful of mallorn he had been concealing behind his back.

"Oh," she accepted the flowers; clearly uncertain at how she should view this gesture. Something akin to confusion and distress crossed her features for the briefest time. "I feel terrible for striking you now," she replied after a moment.

"It was not your fault," Frodo replied. "I did behave rather badly."

"But it appears you have reason," she replied.

"I did," he was not about to deny that. "So I take it you will keep this encounter between us only? I do not wish for all of Hobbiton to know of this disagreement."

  
Even as he said it, he knew that he had made another grievous mistake.

"Ooh!" She hissed in fury and suddenly he found himself flat on his back once again, his other eye stinging with pain as he felt the flutter of scattered flowers falling across his face.

"You scoundrel!" Frodo heard her shout. "That’s your whole reason for apologizing isn’t it? So that I would not ruin your precious reputation by telling anyone how badly you behaved! I had never any intention of speaking of this encounter to anyone! I am no gossipmonger! You Mr. Baggins, can take your talk, your apologies and your flowers and go to the trolls with you!"

Frodo shook his head and let it drop into grass, staring at the sky above, thinking that life was so much simpler when all he had to worry about was the One Ring and the quest to Mordor.

Predictably, as the thought crossed his mind, it started to rain.

* * *

"Poor Mister Frodo," Rosie cooed gently as she slipped a blanket over him lap and ran her fingers over his hair like he was a small child in need of solace. "I had no idea that I was going to cause you so much mischief."

"It was not your fault Rosie," Frodo sighed as he eased back into his chair, enjoying her ministrations as she fawned around him. Outside the rain was battering down relentlessly, its teeming sounds forming a soothing noise in the background. "I offended the lady and she behaved rightly so."

"Violet’s always had a bit of a temper, even as a child she was always prone to using her fists to express her anger. The only people who doesn’t make her mad that way are the children, thankfully," Rosie remarked handing him a hot cup of tea as he sat in front of the fire that Sam had stoked into being.

"Yes," he frowned in agreement, feeling the stinging pain around his eyes and wondered if he would look like a raccoon the next morning. "She certainly throws a good punch."

"Now don’t you worry about a thing," Rosie said as she brought him the book he was presently reading which he had left on his bedside table. "I’ll talk to Violet and have this whole thing straightened out. She’s not one to gossip as I could have probably told you that but she doesn’t know you like I do Mr. Frodo and there will be none of this getting across town, not while I can help it."

Frodo looked up at Rosie, seeing the imperious look across her face and noted that she wore an expression that reminded him of Aragorn just before the king of Gondor was about to go slaughter Nazgul. For a brief instant, he was almost in awe of her and felt somewhat privileged that she would defend him so stoutly. At that moment, he understood all too well why Sam cherished her so. All this time, he had complained about what an intrusion Rosie had been in his life with her marriage to Sam. After all, not only had she taken up place in his home but also space in the heart of his best friend that perhaps he felt belonged to him exclusively. Now Frodo understood how terribly wrong he had been. He was not losing anything with Rosie’s presence and gaining more than he ever imagined he would when she had come to stay.

With a sudden start, he realized why Bag End felt so differently since her arrival. Instead of the smell of musty old books, the house smelled of home cooked meals and warmth that had been absent since Bilbo left. He looked around his parlor and saw a vase of flowers sitting on the mantle piece with splashes of color in the curtains that he had first abhorred but now felt like a slice of life he had been denying himself because of the travails of his past. For the first time in so many years, Bag End did not just feel like a house to him but rather a home. It surprised him how much difference lay between those two words.

"Rosie," Frodo spoke, halting her departure to the kitchen where she was in the process of preparing dinner while taking short interludes to see tend to him.

"Yes Mister. Frodo?" she asked quizzically.

"I am really glad that you and Sam have come to stay," he said with a little smile.

Rosie’s smile was even more brilliant than the flames in the fire place, her eyes glistened with emotion probably because it was the first time she had ever heard him say those words and meant it so sincerely.

"Thank you for letting us move in with you, if you hadn’t we probably wouldn’t be married," Rosie replied.

"I doubt that," Frodo reached for her hand and held it in his, "Sam loves you terribly, I doubted anything would have stood in his way with you were being what he wanted."

Rosie swallowed hard at the words, finding it difficult to speak. Fortunately, she did not need to.

"Am I interrupting something?" Sam announced himself as he entered the parlor where his wife and friend were having what appeared to be a deeply emotional conversation.

"Just in time," Frodo grinned at Sam. "I was finished telling Rosie how much you both mean to me but now that I’ve gotten that sentimental business aside, how about joining me for a cup of tea Sam and I’ll tell you what nightmare my day has been."

"And I’ll make you a nice cup of tea as well," Rosie remarked with a special smile for her husband as she started towards the kitchen past him. Rosie planted as small kiss on his lips before she was on her way again.

As Frodo watched Sam pull up a chair, he eased into his own comfortably, thinking to himself that Bag End was and always be his home but he was rather glad to know that it would always be Sam and Rosie’s as well.

Even if he did hate those curtains.


	5. The Pony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling sorry for the decided lack of romance for Gimli but not wishing to delve too deeply into dwarf love because almost nothing is known about dwarf women, I created the character of Lorin as Gimli’s wife. Tolkien claims that women dwarfs tended to stay close to home and often chose their mates because they seemed to outnumber the males. He also gives a good deal of room to maneuver where Gimli is concerned following the events in Return of the King. Since the dwarf is known as the Lord of the Algarond or the Glittering Caves, having established a colony in the caverns he discovered during the battle of the Hornburg, I assumed it would not be that improbable for him to take a wife. Once again, if you have a problem with OFC’s, you can simply skip to the next chapter. It is not essential that you read this part.

 

Gimli stared at the pony.

The pony stared back at Gimli.

Dwarf and beast examined each other, neither liking greatly what they saw and but lacked the ability to communicate to each other their apparent distaste. Gimli wondered what the elf was thinking in presenting him with this gift and suspected immediately that Legolas was having some joke at his expense. The beast watched him unmoving, as if expecting to make some sudden move to which it would be required to defend himself. Gimli supposed that he was not helping to soothe the creature’s anxiety that Gimli was approaching the pony like he was about to go into battle but he could not help it, it was a battle in some way.

From this distance, the beast did not look entirely threatening but Gimli knew looks could be deceiving. After travelling on a quest with a Ranger who turned out to be a king, an elf that became a trusted friend and a hobbit that proved to have power enough to topple Sauron, Gimli would never again trust appearances. No doubt this pony, bred apparently in the highlands of the White Mountains by the Rohirrim as beasts of burden despite their small size, had hidden strengths that would reveal itself in time. The pony had a flaxen mane flowing over its neck and its face, far longer than most full size horses. It did not bear the equine grace of horses but appeared stocky and rather ungainly, much like a dwarf, Gimli thought to himself. The rest of its body was a rich, golden color with a blaze of white from its forehead to its nose.

When Eomer’s men first presented the pony to him at the Glittering Caves, he had thought it to be a joke. However, the message that came with the creature told him clearly that it was nothing of the kind. Legolas had requested that Eomer select Gimli a horse that would suit the dwarf for it was undignified for the Lord of the Glittering Caves to be ferried everywhere without a steed of his own whenever they traveled together. Gimli wondered if Legolas had fallen upon his head when he had made the request since it was well known that dwarves did not ride,  _ever_. Even when he was forced to mount a horse behind Legolas, it had been under great protest and even then, he had never felt comfortable about it.

  
Eomer had thus selected a breed of pony that were reared in the White Mountains and were used mostly for dragging yokes and wagons on farms. However, lately, the beasts had become more popular as a child’s first introduction to horses. Nobles across Middle earth were purchasing the animals for their children who were too small for proper horses but old enough to ride. Also since learning of the Shire folk, efforts had been made to introduce the ponies there because their size fit the small stature of the hobbits. Since dwarfs had never shown any interest in mastering horses of any kind, Eomer had never given it much thought until Legolas’ request but upon being asked, thought the pony he had selected to be the ideal size for Gimli.

So now, Gimli found himself staring at his gift, complete with saddle fit for a dwarf, hand crafted he was told by one of the finest saddle makers in Rohan which was now resting on one corner of the stall, uncertain of what to make of the elf’s gift. Gimli swore under his breath as he regarded the beast that the next time he saw Legolas, the elf would be receiving his very own set of mining tools and Gimli would  _insist_  that he use them. He had no idea where to keep the pony as caves were no place for such an animal although he could not see why it could not be allowed to roam during in the fields beyond the caves during the day and brought in for its protection by night. It was at this point to his utter shock, that Gimli realized that he was resigning himself to keep the creature.

"I cannot keep you!" Gimli told the pony as he stood before it in the section of cave that had become its stable since being presented to its owner more than a day ago.

  
The pony did not appear to care very much about Gimli’s dilemma.

"I know why that damned elf gave you to me," Gimli ranted as he started to pace beyond the hastily put together stall that had been built for the pony. "He wishes to vex me even in his absence. I am certain wherever he is; he is drawing great amusement at my expense. I sometimes wonder why I even call him friend!"

He knew why of course and had it been any other elf, Gimli was certain their friendship would not have flourished. Perilous times and great deeds had forged their friendship, binding them together as no elf or dwarf had ever been for too long. Legolas had saved his life more times then he could count and he in turn had done the same. Outwardly, those who saw them together would think that they were an unlikely pair, always bickering with one another but anyone attempting to break that bond would have reason to regret it.

Part of the reason they were so close, Gimli believed was because around him, Legolas did not have to act the age of a three thousand-year-old elf. Gimli did not look to Legolas for wisdom the way the rest of the Fellowship had done. To him, Legolas was an elf and nothing more. Age had little to do with his perception of the Prince. For this reason, Legolas was allowed to be himself, without maintaining the air of mystery elves liked to project around themselves. This unfortunately, allowed Legolas to show the side of himself that few people knew of, for instance his terrible sense of humor, particularly in his choice of gifts.

"He knows I do not like horses," Gimli continued his one sided conversation with the pony. "He thinks to annoy me by having you here, so I can be forever reminded by the fact that I must keep you because you are gift from him!"

Gimli knew that he was working himself in a proper state but he could not help himself. What sort of game was Legolas playing with him? This poor creature deserved a master who could ride him, not to be kept away from the open plains in a dwarf’s realm. He walked to the edge of the stall and ran his hand along the pony’s flank. Strangely enough, the beast did not recoil, merely reacted to his touch with a slight turn of its head. Examining the pony a little closer, Gimli discovered that it was male but gelded. At least Legolas and Eomer did not saddle him with a female, though he had no idea if that made any difference in terms of riding a pony.

"I have no doubt when I see him next he will take great relish in asking me how I fare with his gift," Gimli continued to complain, "knowing full well that I would never ride you. I wish I could tell him otherwise. Now wouldn’t that make his jest leave a bitter taste in his mouth?" He chuckled slightly to himself.

"That would make him eat his words if I rode you when I returned to Minas Tirith," Gimli continued to speak, his mind suddenly filled with images of Legolas’ shocked face when he appeared before the elf, astride the pony as if he were born to the saddle.

The pony looked at him rather doubtfully.

"I suppose it’s not so impossible that I try, I mean how hard could it truly be? Men ride all the time, some before they can even walk. Perhaps that is an exaggeration but you know what I mean." Gimli started rationalizing the thought that had started to take root in his mind the more he considered the seemingly preposterous notion. Dwarves did not ride. Dwarves did not befriend elves either or take part in events that had shaped the world, far from their deep mountain recesses. His whole life had been about accomplishing things that dwarfs were not meant to. Why was this any different?

Gazing purposefully at the saddle that had been made for him, Gimli crossed the floor of the cave and came to a halt before it. Dropping to his knees, he examined the stitched leather saddle and could not deny that it was well crafted enough to have been dwarf in origin. Everything about it had been made to suit him, even possessing a strap to which his axe could have been attached. Gimli took in the smell of new leather and admire the craftsmanship before he picked it up and headed towards the pony that was eyeing him rather suspiciously.

"Now let us be reasonable about this," Gimli remarked as he stepped into the stall, approaching the pony stealthily. "You do not want to be left languishing in here any more than I want to see that elf’s smirking face the next time I see him. I shall put this on you and if you do not bite or kick me, we can begin this relationship amicably."

The pony seemed to be thinking this over when Gimli approached it with the saddle, taking more care than he would use whilst approaching a sleeping Balrog after a particularly bad day. The animal did not react when Gimli placed the saddle upon its back and attempted to decipher the straps and buckles that would secure it to its body. It was not difficult to discern since no self-respecting dwarf would ever admit openly that he was unable to master any kind of device, even if it was for use on a horse.

Once he was certain that everything was in place and the saddle would not slide off the beast’s body when he mounted it, Gimli stepped back and stared at the pony. He could not deny that he was a little uneasy about actually attempting to climb into the saddle but he knew that he was no coward and this was only a pony. He had faced far greater threat then this in his life and he would not falter now. Taking a deep breath to strengthen his resolve and approached the pony once more.

"I am going to climb on now," he told the animal earnestly. "Let us both keep calm shall we? You do not throw me and I will resist the urge to introduce you to my axe."

The pony did not respond to this with any violence so Gimli decided that it was safe to continue. Placing his feet gingerly in the stirrup, he pulled himself up clutching the saddle, remembering how he had seen Legolas perform the same maneuver time and time again in the past. Swinging his foot over the leather, he rested himself carefully unto the seat and found that it felt quite strange to be sitting on top of the pony alone, without someone else in front of him. Taking the reins in his hands, Gimli had to confess that this was not as bad as he thought it would be.

"Let us move around a bit, shall we?" He asked the animal and tried to remember how he had seen Legolas nudge Arod into moving.

The moment he dug his heels into the pony’s flank, Gimli suddenly felt the beast heave sharply from the rear with such force that he could do little except to shout indignantly as he was unseated from the saddle. The dwarf landed on his face into the fresh straw that covered the stable floor. He was grateful that he was wearing his helmet for it would have been a painful exercise to land on the hard, stone ground without it. For a few seconds he lay there, adjusting himself to the pain moving throughout this body before he stood up abruptly and turned to the pony that was staring at him unrepentant.

"I thought we had an agreement!" Gimli barked at the pony that did not flinch at its master’s anger.

"I should take an axe to you," the dwarf raved as he picked himself up and dusted the errant pieces of straw attached to his clothing. "But that would mean that I was defeated by an animal and I am not ready to give up the notion that I will never master you for I  _shall_."

With that, he strode back to the pony and attempted to climb into the saddle once again. This time the beast did not even allow him to do that much. No sooner than his foot was in the stirrup, the animal moved away, allowing him to stumble and fall onto his back, his foot still caught in the steel. Gimli freed himself and swore loudly, certain the impassive look the beast was giving him was nothing short than a smile of derision. He continued towards it, anger making me more determined than ever to mount the pony.

"I will ride you beast," Gimli declared as if he were uttering a battle cry. "Make no mistake on that. Before this day is out, one of us will know who is its master and I swear to you, it will  _not_  be me."

* * *

As the Lady of the Glittering Caves and the wife of Gimli, son of Gloin and elf friend, Lorin had become accustomed to the fact that her husband was not an ordinary dwarf. Indeed, it was his lack of convention that had made him a hero and had aided her decision to choose him as a husband. In truth, when she had first left Erebor for the lands of Rohan, she had no intention of marriage. By trade, she was an engraver and many of the axes carried by the dwarfs who resided in Erebor had her distinct markings upon it. However, the chance to start a new life far away from the world she had known had inspired her interest more than Lorin would have expected. Without giving the matter much thought since her heart made the decision for her, Lorin found herself journeying to the Glittering Caves with the rest of the dwarfs that were following him to establishing a new colony called Aglarond.

It was not because he was a great hero that she found herself forming affections for him but rather because of the kind heart that existed beneath his crusty exterior. In truth, he could be impatient, downright stubborn and impossible but he showed tenderness and tolerance that was uncommon in most dwarfs. When he spoke about the Glittering Caves, he described it with the wonder of a child and one could not help but desire to see it as he did. Of course, he also had the same glimmer in his eyes when he spoke of the Lady of the Golden Wood. Lorin knew Gimli kept a lock of her hair like a sacred trust however, the dwarf lady had come to accept that his love for Galadriel was more than awe than anything.

Fortunately, what he felt for his wife was decidedly grounded in reality and Lorin was not so insecure that she would be jealous of his infatuation with an elven lady who had passed beyond the boundaries of Middle earth. Certainly her husband did not treat her as if she had to compete for the affections of another. Indeed when she had first made known her regard for him, his reaction had almost bordered on astonishment. Strange how this was the reaction of most dwarf males when approached by women of their own kind. However, in time they forged a love that was stronger than mithrail and though it was not one of burning passion because dwarfs did not like passion as much in their relationships as they liked comfortable familiarity, it was no less binding.

As a husband, she did not expect to see him a good deal even before they had married, aware that he was a wanderer at heart, despite his beliefs to the contrary. He spent a good deal of time journeying with the legendary Fellowship, especially the elf who was son to King Thranduil of Mirkwood. She did note however, that he made time to return home, not merely to see to his realm but also to see her. There were occasions when he simply came back for the latter and Lorin was deeply touched by it.

  
He was not like other dwarfs, her lord and she loved him dearly for it.

Lorin sat in the parlor of the rooms that served as their private residence, darning some clothes of his that was in great need of repair when suddenly she heard a door slam, which made her jump a little, followed by determined footsteps approaching. Looking up, she saw her husband storming through the room appearing quite disheveled, with piece of stray clinging to his clothes. There was also a slight limp in his steps and he bore all the earmarks of having been in some kind of battle.

"What happened to you husband?"

Gimli did not speak at first, choosing instead to go to the fireplace where his axe hung over the mantle piece.

"Why are you taking your axe?" She questioned again, aware that he did not take it from its place without intending to use it.

"I am going to introduce it to that damn pony!" Gimli hissed.

"You attempted to ride it?" She exclaimed with incredulity as she at last understood why he was in the state he was.

"I did not get that far," Gimli rumbled darkly as he removed the axe and clutched it purposefully in his hand before turning to leave again.

  
"You do not know how to ride," she pointed out, feeling it a wifely duty to stop her husband when he was bent on leaving, armed with an axe and obviously furious.

"That was painfully obvious by the number of times that accursed creature threw me!" Gimli paused long enough to answer.

"Husband," she intercepted him before he got past her. "You cannot kill the creature, it was a gift from Legolas," she replied attempting to reason with him.

"A gift!" Gimli snorted. "It is not gift! It is just a way for that damned elf to cause me annoyance. They thrive on it you know, these elves. They appeared to be worldly and wise but their secret ambition is to drive every living thing insane!" He said this with more than a look of mania etched in his face.

"I thought you decided you were not going to ride it," Lorin remarked, gently reaching for his hand so that she could remove the axe from his grip.

  
"Well I thought that I might teach Legolas a lesson," Gimli frowned. "I know he think me to afraid to learn to ride the thing and I was going to prove him wrong. I was going to ride the beast back to Minas Tirith when I return."

"An admirable plan," Lorin agreed and she could not help but think that her husband would look very impressive on a horse, thought his was not the best time to mention that. "However, I do believe instruction is required in such instances. One does not simply mount a horse and expect to simply ride it."

"How hard can it be?" Gimli retorted.

"Judging by the number of times you fell out of the saddle, I would say considerably," Lorin answered with a straight face.

"Are you mocking me wife?" Gimli straightened up and gave her a look.

"I would do nothing of the kind," she said with a little smile, leaning over to kiss his lips gently before speaking again. "I have heard Legolas speak of his childhood and I am certain he makes it clear that his father had to teach him. He simply did not hop onto the back of horse and knew instantly how to ride."

"I suppose," he shifted uncomfortably at her point, wishing it were not so because he  _really_  did want to introduce the pony to his axe.

"Perhaps you should find someone to teach you," she suggested.

"Teach me?" He snorted. "Who could teach me? I do not think I wish to go to Minas Tirith simply to learn to ride a horse. Aragorn would be good enough to teach me if I were to ask but I do not think it appropriate to make such a request of him."

"Then do not go so far," Lorin replied. "You are friends with the King of the Mark are you not?"

"With Eomer? Yes, we are friends though I once almost took my axe to him over his slight against the Lady of the Wood."

"Yes, yes," Lorin rolled her eyes impatiently, "I have heard that tale before. I meant, do you trust him enough to teach you how to ride?"

Gimli shrugged and found that it was not a question that was at all easy to answer. It was not that he did not think that Eomer would help him but he was somewhat embarrassed to be in a position where he was required to ask for aide. Dwarfs were fiercely independent and they liked it even less when they were in a position of disadvantage. Despite the fact that Eomer was someone Gimli considered a friend, this age old conditioning of his race was a tradition difficult to break.

"I suppose," he fidgeted uncomfortably where he stood because he was hesitant to answer. Lorin could be so much more sensible then him and when she put forward the questions so starkly, that was very little he could do to deny the wisdom of her words.

"Well then," she gave him a look of gentle understanding; "you know what you must do if you truly mean to master Legolas’ gift, you must ask Eomer to help you."

"I suppose there is no other way," Gimli muttered unhappily, having hoped he would have been able to master the pony without any assistance. However, the last few hours had proved quite plainly that if he intended to go through with his plan, then he would have to do as his lady suggested. He just wished he did not have to.

"Well you could forget the whole idea to begin with," she remarked, eyeing him suggestively.

"No!" Gimli retorted sharply. "I will not let that elf get the better of me. I’ll show him that I can do this. I will go to Edoras tomorrow and that damned pony is coming with me!"

* * *

When Eomer, King of the Mark was told that he had a visitor, the last person he had expected it to be was Gimli, Lord of Algarond or the Glittering Caves as it was most commonly know to the Rohirrim. After all, it had only been a number of days ago that the gift Legolas Greenleaf had requested Eomer to make on his behalf was delivered to the dwarf. While Eomer had anticipated a message that would either have Gimli cursing or thanking him, since it was anyone’s guess how a dwarf was going to react to a gift of this nature, he had certainly not expected Gimli to make an appearance himself.

"Gimli!" Eomer exclaimed when chamberlain showed Gimli into the hall of Meduseld.

"Eomer," Gimli smiled as the two warriors met in friendly embrace. "It is good to see you King of the Mark."

"Likewise, Lord of Aglarond," Eomer teased. "So to what do I owe this visit?"

Gimli seemed to bristle at the mention of that and he looked at Eomer through narrowed eyes, "I came about that wretched beast."

"Ah," Eomer nodded understanding completely as he led Gimli to the long table where food and drink were being prepared for the guest. "You are here to return it. I understand," he said quickly sparing Gimli the indignity of explaining. "When Legolas first mentioned the idea, I thought him mad. After all it is well known that your people are not fond of horses. However, he was determined that you have one, kept saying something about the Lord of Aglarond should not be forced to travel with his companions on the back of someone else’ horse."

"Actually," Gimli cleared his throat, trying to force the words out of his mouth. "I came here to learn how to ride."

There were not many things that could stop the King of the Mark dead in his tracks but apparently this was one of them.

Eomer turned around and looked down at his diminutive friend, "you want to learn how to ride a horse?’

"That blasted pony anyway!" Gimli declared a little defensively. "I will not let a beast defeat me!"

Eomer’s brow rose up over his eyes in surprise at the dwarf’s obvious chagrin and he was forced to stifle the urge to smile because to do so would undoubtedly earn him the sharp end of Gimli’s axe, king or not. Instead, he did a remarkable job of composing himself as he listened to Gimli rave a little more about a pony whose crimes it seemed were more heinous than any committed by Sauron himself. The dwarf was working himself into a proper state of outrage as he described the events that had led to his arrival in Edoras seeking Eomer’s aid.

"So you see, I am going to learn to ride this creature if it is the last thing I do," Gimli concluded his speech.

"Well if you had continued to be thrown out of the saddle, that may very well have been true," Eomer pointed out. "Do you know how dangerous it is to be thrown? You could have hurt yourself badly."

"Well that is why I am here," Gimli retorted gruffly. "My lady seems to think as you do. She advised that I seek your aid in learning how to ride properly since I am so determined to do this thing."

"The Lady Lorin counsels you well, "Eomer replied with a little smile, "it is no easy thing learning to master a horse or a pony for that matter. My father taught both Eowyn and I as a child. In Rohan, I think we are bred to ride before we walk."

"I think that is the same of us in Erebor," the dwarf remarked as he relaxed a little, pleased that Eomer was not making light of his request but seemed genuinely committed to help him. "We learn a trade before we learn anything else."

"It is not difficult to learn how to ride," the king continued, "however, it does need to be learnt. It is not a thing that can be done by simply climbing into the saddle, be it a horse or a pony such as yours."

"Well if the little hobbits can do it, I can see why I cannot," Gimli retorted remembering the pony named Bill that was so cherished by Samwise Gamgee. "Although I am certain that there is something wrong with that pony. It must be sick in the brain I am certain."

Eomer had not picked the pony himself but he did send one of his most trusted men to make the selection and prior to its delivery to Gimli, had inspected the animal himself. He had considered the choice to be well made although like all the Rohirrim, his eye was more for horses then their smaller cousins. Of course, he had not ridden the thing himself and supposed in that respect at least, there was the possibility that there was something wrong with the pony to cause Gimli such distress.

"Some animals may simply be unaccustomed to having a rider on its back," Eomer explained, drawing from his own experiences.

"It is not that," the dwarf said vehemently, "that beast is stubborn, bad tempered, with more spirit then sense!"

The irony was not lost on Eomer.

However, instead of responding as no doubt Legolas would have done had the elf been present, the King of the Mark preferred to move on and leave the volatile comment alone, choosing to address the problem that had brought Gimli to Edoras instead. Besides, Eomer could see the whole situation bothered the dwarf and he had not the heart to make light of it.

"I am assuming then your journey here with the beast was not as easy as you would have liked," Eomer asked innocently.

"Not at all," Gimli scowled, "I was tempted to use my axe several times."

Eomer gave the dwarf a look of reproach before responding, "I think we will have to try something other than that to gain its trust."

"Gain its trust?" Gimli stared at him blankly as if he had suggested the most preposterous thing imaginable. "Why would I need to gain its trust?"

"Because if the animal does not feel comfortable with you, it is not going to carry you  _anywhere_ ," Eomer answered with more of a condescending tone then he meant.

"Why cannot we simply get another pony?" Gimli offered, not liking the idea of pitting his wits against the wretched beast again, since every encounter so far had been met with humiliation and defeat.

"For starters because we do not breed them here," the king explained. "They are found in the mountains where their breed grows freely. It is the cold and temperate weather than makes them small yet hardy, secondly you do not strike me as one who gives up so easily."

"Give up?" Gimli took offense at the phrase. "I am not giving up," he stated firmly.

"Of course not," Eomer remarked neutrally.

Gimli stared at Eomer through narrowed eyes, aware of what the king was trying to do and finding it extremely annoying that he was succeeding.

"If I am to keep this beast, will you help me then?" Gimli looked at him hopefully. "Will you teach me how to ride?"

  
He had been called on to do many things in his life, face trials that would have broken lesser men but teaching a dwarf how to ride a pony had to be counted as something of a first. However, Eomer knew how difficult it was for Gimli to come to him for aid, especially when one considered on what foot their association had began and how it had evolved into the friendship they now shared. Since the end of the War, that friendship had strengthened because of the close proximity of each of their realms.

"It will be my privilege to try," Eomer answered with a little smile. "Let’s see what kind of horseman you make."

"Hopefully one who can stay in the saddle for more than a few seconds," Gimli remarked, wishing he had Eomer’s confidence in his abilities.

"Oh do not worry," the king smiled mischievously, "we have rope."

Gimli gave him a look and then cursed under his breath. He could not believe the lengths he was going to accomplish this task. Once again, Gimli reminded himself to take sweet vengeance upon Legolas, the next time he saw the elf.

That is if he did not kill himself first.

* * *

The lesson began the very next day with Eomer and Gimli gathered in the large courtyard outside the hall of Meduseld. Although there were better ways for the King of the Mark to occupy his time, Eomer could not help be pleased that the task of helping Gimli ensured that for a few days at least, his mind was filled with things other than the affairs of state. There were times when even the king required a little distraction and he had to confess that despite the unusual nature of the request the dwarf had made of him, Eomer was somewhat looking forward to it. Sometimes, a king needed to succeed the smaller battles in order to win the larger ones.

"What are you doing?" Gimli asked when he saw Eomer tying the rope to the bridle around the pony’s elongated nose.

"Ensuring that when this animal choose to move with you on it, it does not decide to bolt for parts unknown," Eomer replied.

  
"If I can remain in the saddle long enough for the beast to bolt, I will be surprised," Gimli retorted, watching how the pony seemed so placid in Eomer’s care and felt no end of resentment towards the beast for its pretentious docility.

"You know," Eomer paused and looked over his shoulder at Gimli, "it might help if you actually gave the animal a name, instead of simply calling it beast. "

"A name?" the dwarf snorted, "you mean aside from riding it, I must now name it as well?"

Eomer gave him a look of impatience that spoke volumes.

"All right," Gimli muttered under his breath, considering what he could name a pony. He had never named an animal before and the experience though not entirely impossible, was a little difficult. However, after a moment, he was willing to make an attempt. An evil thought crossed over his mind and he offered a suggestion, "what about Mirkwood Prince?"

"You want to name your pony Mirkwood Prince?" Eomer stared at him.

An utterly demonic expression stole across Gimli’s features, "does not that flaxen mane remind you of anyone?" The dwarf asked smugly.

Eomer did not trust himself to answer in case he was forced to repeat it later and responded diplomatically, "its your pony and you are the one who is in danger of being riddled with arrows when he finds out."

"After the gracious gift he presented to me," Gimli retorted, not in the least worried about that, "it’s the least I can do for him."

Eomer rolled his eyes and faced Gimli once the rope was secured to the bridle. "Climb into the saddle," he ordered.

Gimli paled visibly at the thought as he stared back at Eomer "Are you certain?"

"You are not going to learn to ride unless you do," he stared at Gimli, waiting for the dwarf to make a movement towards the pony.

Gimli walked gingerly towards the beast, trying to hid his anxiety as he approached. Eomer who had once seen the dwarf slaughter orcs without fear or impunity, playing his deadly game with Legolas during the battle of Helms Deep at the Hornburg had not seen the fear in Gimli’s eyes that he did now. The absurdity of it was beyond his ability to believe it but he kept this observation to himself and allowed Gimli to continue his cautious advance to the pony. For the sake of Gimli’s esteem, Eomer had ensured that no one was lingering in the courtyard that had no good reason to be there and explicit instructions had been given that no mishap suffered by Gimli during the lesson was to be the source of amusement to anyone. Anyone found doing so would earn the king’s extreme displeasure.

Gimli reached the pony and placed his hand upon the saddle. The pony did not move. As he attempted to mount, he heard Eomer offering him some advice on how to climb into the saddle properly and he had to confess being surprised at how different it was from his own method. The pony did not move away as Gimli pulled him self up to the seat and then lowered himself in it. Clutching the reins in his fingers, he tried to dispel the knot that was forming inside his stomach in anticipation of what the animal would do now that he was at its mercy.

He really wished he had his axe and was rather unhappy that Eomer would not let him near the pony without it.

The King of the Mark approached pony and rider, examining briefly the way the dwarf’s feet rested in the stirrups and noted the manner in which he held the reins in his fingers.

"Hold it like this," Eomer explained showing him the proper way in which to do and tightening the stirrups so that Gimli could achieve the proper balance that required.

Once that was ensured, Eomer began to lead Gimli around the courtyard. The pony did not seem to have any difficulty being forced to follow its tether and for the next hour or so that the lesson progressed, Eomer allowed Gimli to get used to the feel of being in the saddle. Most of his life had been dedicated to soldiering and this was really the first time he had been called on to teach anyone anything. It was a different feeling from being a leader of men but in some ways no different. After a time with the pony alternating between trots and cantering, Gimli became more comfortable in the saddle and Eomer decided that it was time to move the lesson to the next level.

"I am taking the rope away," Eomer answered when Gimli asked what he was doing.

"Taking the rope away?" the dwarf gawked at him, with no small measure of panic in his voice. "I do not think that is such a good idea," Gimli said nervously.

Eomer stared back at him, trying to swallow the whole notion of Gimli being afraid. In battle, he had seen none braver so it was quite something for him to witness the dwarf’s fear of riding without a tether. "You will have to do it alone sometime," Eomer pointed out.

Gimli frowned and seemed to clutch the reins even tighter when Eomer removed the rope from the pony’s bridle. He expected to be thrown immediately and brace himself in the saddle for this eventuality. However, nothing of the kind happened in the interminable minutes that passed after Eomer stepped away from the pony. Gimli cursed under his breath, thinking that he must have sounded like a complaining child to the King of the Mark about this pony, especially when all his warnings about being thrown appeared fruitless.

"This pony hates me," Gimli declared hotly. "It seeks to make me look like a liar!"

"I am certain that is not true," Eomer said neutrally "It is just a pony."

"It is not just a pony," the dwarf returned sharply. "It is a creation of Morgoth!"

"Gimli, I know you are distracting me from what must be done," the king gave him a look. "Now you know what you must do, so hurry along and do it."

"This is a bad idea," Gimli pointed out as he clutched the reins in his knuckle white hands. "I just want you to remember that I told you so,"

Eomer rolled his eyes, starting to feel his patience dissipating. "Just remember what I showed you," he repeated himself, "remember, your steed is your companion, not your enemy."

"I have no difficulty in remembering that lesson, it is this beast that does," Gimli grumbled as he dug his heels into the creature’s flank in order to start the pony moving forward.

In retrospect, Gimli supposed he ought to be grateful that what followed next ensured that his word would no longer be doubted by Eomer since the pony reared up violently and tossed the dwarf, trailing a litany of curses through the air and onto the ground. Gimli landed not far from Eomer’s feet just as the pony snorted loudly its distaste for the whole attempt.

"Master dwarf!" Eomer skidded to the dwarf’s side, fearful that he had been injured by that fall.

Gimli sat up suddenly; his face twisted in anger and fairly growled at Eomer, "NOBODY TOSSES A DWARF!"

"Are you all right?" Eomer asked concerned as he helped Gimli to his feet.

"Yes," Gimli nodded, suddenly becoming so calm it was frightening. "I am quite fine thank you."

Yet Eomer had good reason to distrust him because even as he said those words, his eyes were searching the courtyard for his axe.

"This is most unexpected," Eomer frowned at the pony. "I have never seen a horse or a pony behave in such a way."

"I am not going to be beaten by this infernal creature!" Gimli bellowed and stormed back to the pony, his posture rigid and unyielding as if he were about to take on a host of orcs with his bare hands. The pony stared back at its master with challenge, daring Gimli to mount him again.

Eomer could only watch in dumbfounded astonishment as nothing less than war was waged. Gimli would keep trying to climb unto the saddle and there were times when he was seated long enough for Eomer to think that he had succeeded in taming the creature when suddenly the pony would show them both how wrong they were. Very soon those who had been under strict orders to go about their business in the courtyard could not keep their eyes from the spectacle, taking place. They viewed the dwarf’s determination to conquer the pony with growing admiration and after a time, even Eomer began to consider that perhaps this whole idea of Gimli learning to ride might have been an idea ill conceived.

Gimli was determined to conquer this creature no matter what. Since coming to Edoras, he had learnt one thing and that gave him will to continue because he knew now that it was not his fault that he could not ride, it was the pony. He had never in his life been defeated by anything and he would be betraying every dwarf from his father to the first ones created by Aule by giving up until he had won the day. Eomer had instructed him well and he knew that given a saner specimen, he would learn to ride but he was not ready to concede defeat to a pony.

Gimli son of Gloin had too much pride for that.

"Master dwarf," Eomer finally spoke when evening started to approach in the distant horizon. "Perhaps we should try this again tomorrow. It has been a long day and you have been thrown too many times for me to allow you continue in good conscience."

"No," Gimli hissed at the king. His whole body was aching from the abrupt landings on the ground but it would all be for nothing if he gave up. "I will not stop until I have mastered this beast."

"I do not wish to see you hurt," Eomer insisted. "You’ve been thrown off so many times, I am becoming exhausted watching it."

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!" Gimli repeated himself and stormed off again, once more unto the breach.

Unfortunately, there was much dwarf tossing throughout the night and when the sun finally set with Gimli landing hard one time too many until he did not rise easily again, Eomer knew that the stout hearted Lord of Aglarond was not going to win the day. When Gimli did not rise to his feet after his latest fall, Eomer knew that he was done.

"Come on Master Gimli," Eomer said sympathetically as he helped the woozy dwarf to his feet, "you did your best. Now its time to rest."

"I will never give in!" Gimli retorted sharply, even though he now needed the aid of two palace servants to stand.

"Take him to his chambers," Eomer ordered the two men. "Ensure he gets a good night rest."

"Confounded spawn of Melkor!" Gimli was still ranting as they took him out of Eomer’s sight.

Eomer turned to the pony that had caused all this difficult and stared hard at the indifferent beast who did not seem at all repentant at what he had put Gimli through for the last few hours. Eomer studied the pony for a long time, sizing up the creature as an enemy as formidable as he had ever faced in his life. He did not realize the pony was doing the same. The King of the Mark stared at the animal for the longest time, wondering what was in its nature that made it so difficult. Obviously it did not like the dwarf and Eomer was rather incensed that he would have chosen a gift on Legolas’ behalf that would find Gimli so objectionable.

He came towards the pony and ran his hand against the hot flank of its neck. Its exertions had made its skin hot and sweaty. The pony flinched a little at his touch but reacted little else after that. Eomer took a deep breath and wondered what Gimli was doing that had earned him the pony’s severe dislike. Putting his hand on the pommel, Eomer hauled himself onto the saddle. He was too tall for a pony of this size, that much was obvious but he did not intend to ride it to Gondor, just around the courtyard to see why Gimli was having the difficulties he was with the animal.

When he tightened his legs against the animal’s side to prompt him into moving, the pony that Gimli had called Mirkwood Prince showed that despite its small stature, it was capable of inflicting as much harm upon a man as it was upon the dwarf. While Eomer did not sail across the air as Gimli had, he did make a rather unceremonious fall off the saddle into the ground.

  
"That does it!" Eomer glowered as he stared at the creature that stared back at him with defiance.

"You are not fit to be ridden! You will kill someone before you allow that to happen! Were I not such a lover of horses, I would have you put to death!" Eomer’s infinite patience suddenly dried up as he shouted at the pony.

It was to his shock that Eomer discovered that he was now reduced to Gimli’s state of mind.

Eomer stood up to his full height and strode towards the pony, his face was dark and stormy. Those who saw him remembered how he appeared at Helms Deep and the Battle of Pelennor. Even then, he had not appeared so fierce as he reached the pony and stared at it, nose to nose.

"I am going to do what I should have done in the first place," Eomer hissed, his voice full of menace.

The pony dared him to do his worst.

* * *

It was almost three days before Gimli was in any fit state to make another attempt.

He had spent most of the time, driving the healers at the House of Healing to distraction with his insistence that he was well enough to stand on his own feet even though his body was bruised from his efforts to ride. However, Eomer had insisted that he take the full measure of time in recovering for he could not be any less than completely fit when he attempted to ride again. During his convalescence, Gimli had calmed down in temperament enough to admit that perhaps he was not the dwarf who would break his people’s long held reluctance to ride. Perhaps Legolas was right, his people were too rigid in their ways to ever learn to be masters of horses as men and elves were. However, a tiny part of him did feel somewhat inadequate when one considered that even the hobbits knew how to ride.

Unfortunately, his efforts with Legolas’ gift proved that he was no horseman and was very unlikely to become one in the future. He had started to resign himself to the fact that he would never accomplish this task and the taste of defeat was sourer then he cared to admit but it was beyond Gimli’s nature to show weakness, even in the face of failure. Fortunately, he knew that Eomer would understand and would not make his decision any harder to bear. The king despite his warrior nature had a far more sensitive soul then most would believe. Of him and his sister, Gimli decided that it was Eomer who was more thoughtful of the two.

Thus it was to of complete surprise to him when Eomer turned up at his chambers early that morning, pounding on the door, expecting him to continue their riding lessons.

"I have given up," Gimli retorted unhappily. He did not like to say it even though he had more or less resigned himself to its acceptance.

"Nonsense," Eomer brushed aside the comment, "we are riding this morning."

"Why?" the dwarf said glumly, "I am only going to be thrown again."

"Do you not know that it is extremely bad manners to refuse the request of the king whilst you are in residence of his domain?" Eomer looked at him critically.

"Oh you should have said you were going to cheat," Gimli said sarcastically, grabbing his helmet as he stepped out of the doorway to follow the king where he willed. "Then I would have understood better."

"You left me no other choice," Eomer answered with a little smile, "now come on."

Deciding that he had no choice but to comply with Eomer’s madness, Gimli followed the king to the courtyard once more. The pony was already saddled and waiting, making Gimli wondered if the King of the Mark was having a worse case of denial in Gimli’s ability to master the beast then the dwarf himself. In either case, it was apparent, Eomer expected him to ride. As he approached the pony, Gimli blinked once as he saw the animal that had caused him so much bruising. Once again, he wished he had his axe close by because if he was tossed again, the last thing the creature would know was his blade.

"Climb into the saddle," Eomer instructed.

Gimli looked at him skeptically, "are you trying to get my neck broken or do you simply wish to see me further humiliated."

"Trust me," Eomer gave him a look and added, "I do not need to wish that, I saw enough of that during our  _first_  lesson."

"I am glad you drew such amusement from my embarrassment," Gimli retorted but Eomer noticed he was nevertheless still approaching the animal.

The dwarf reached the pony and paused a moment. His hesitation was brief as a contemplative look crossed his crusty features. Eomer’s breath held but was released a moment later when Gimli placed his foot into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle.

"Are you certain about this?" he asked Eomer once more.

"Yes," Eomer said firmly, "try it."

Gimli nodded and tensed his legs against the flank of the pony. It felt as if everyone who was present were holding their breaths in anticipation, whether or not they happened to be spying on the king and his companion or simply passing by and had paused to watch if the moment. Then they saw the muscle in the pony’s flanks ripple like a stone thrown into a still pond. Under its russet pelt, the pony took a tentative step forward and then another, and yet another still. Gimli’s expression was one of surprise and then of euphoria as he found himself controlling the pony for the first time since he had acquired it .

There was a collective cheer from those present, Eomer included when the pony made its way across the courtyard and then under Gimli’s control, turned and returned the way it had came. The dwarf was wearing a wide grin on his face as Eomer closed the distance between them on foot.

"I knew you could do it Master Gimli," Eomer laughed.

"Thank you Eomer," Gimli replied, genuinely touched by the king’s efforts on your behalf. "I could not have done it without you."

"You would have eventually succeeded yourself, I merely offered some useful advice," Eomer grinned as Gimli remained in the saddle, apparently unwilling to climb off the pony just yet. Eomer could not blame him. After the ordeal he had endured to learn how to ride, why should not the dwarf want to savor his victory?

"You offered more than advice, Eomer," Gimli said gratefully as he ran his hand across the flaxen mane of the pony and though to himself that Mirkwood Prince was definitely the name for the steed. "You had faith that I could do this and I am thankful for that."

Eomer did not know what to say and for a few seconds an awkward silence followed before Eomer spoke up, propelling them past the moment, "so what now? Do you go to Gondor to see the Prince of Mirkwood and tell him what you named his gift?"

"Definitely," Gimli said with relish, "I think it will amuse him to no end."

Eomer seriously did not think this was the case but he had no wish to dampen the spirit of Gimli’s pleasure, "I am certain it will draw some kind of response."

"Oh Eomer," Gimli suddenly remarked, "there was one other thing."

"Yes?" The king asked innocently.

Gimli stared at Eomer with a little smile before the king became too smug with himself because there was one little matter the dwarf wished to clear up.

"How is it that my gelding has suddenly become a mare?"


	6. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since these stories are set after the War of the Ring, it becomes difficult to write about Boromir in this context as part of the Fellowship. So I will write this from the point of view of Faramir, using his memories of his brother as the basis of this story. While I have tried to write the other stories in this series with some humor, in the case Boromir, I have decided to take a different tone. This will be somewhat bitter sweet.

 

He hated this day.

It was not as if it was the first time he had to endure it, or even the second. It had been quite a number of years since this annual ritual had begun and still Faramir, Lord of Lord of Emyn Arnen, Prince of Ithilien found it as difficult to tolerate, as it was the first. The irony of it was, he himself had begun the practice. When the War of the Ring had ended, his life, as he knew it had changed so dramatically, that he had been left rudderless for a time. For so many years, he knew who he was and what life expected of him. It was very comforting to have no illusions about what lay ahead in the future and though Faramir had sometimes wished that certain elements of his life were different, he was mostly comfortable with what had to be.

Then Boromir died and everything changed.

The death of his brother had more effect upon his life then even the return of Gondor’s king. The loss of the Stewardship was incidental next to and it was to his good fortune that the king was a man worthy of his respect and his unswerving loyalty. However much of Faramir’s affection for Aragorn stemmed from the fact he reminded Faramir a great deal of his fallen brother. They both had the same dedication to Gondor and feared not the responsibility that came with being in power but embraced it as a sacred charge. He knew on some level, Aragorn felt responsible for him too as if by living while Boromir died, he was bound to protect to Faramir.

Their friendship had become what it was because of this duty and in the years since Aragorn had become king, it had deepened in substance to be more then either would have imagined. Aragorn could march into a thousand wars and Faramir knew without doubt, that he would be marching right alongside him on every one of those occasions. Still Aragorn’s friendship could not take the place of the brother who had fallen before the war had even begun. It stung to no that Boromir was apart of none of the world changing events that transpired with the War of the Ring, especially when Boromir had battled Mordor for so long and deserved to be present when Sauron finally fell.

So now he was faced with yet another anniversary of Boromir’s fall at Parth Galen, trying to untangle the knots inside his stomach enough so that he could see the day through without too much emotional torment. He had thought the years would make it easier but the prosperity of his life brought to home how much of it was due to his brother’s death and thus served to renew the pain of his loss.

There was a pattern to his guilt that was as steeped in ritual as the reverence paid to Boromir during the anniversary of his death. It had become so ingrained into him that there was no avoiding it and even Eowyn, his wife had learnt that there were no words to say that could break this cycle of sadness that come upon her husband annually. He noticed that she ensured that she was never far from their home whenever this day came upon them and he loved her even more for it. He wished he could shake the feeling of sadness that seeped into him from the moment he awoke until he went to sleep again that night because Boromir himself would have no patience with his guilt. However, whenever such logical thoughts assailed him, Faramir would counter with the argument that if Boromir were here, everything would be different.

He would not be here playing at being Lord of Emyn Arnen, Prince of Ithilien and more precisely the Steward of Gondor.

Even now, the knowledge that he was Steward of Gondor bothered him more than he would care to admit. In truth, the title was obsolete since the king’s return. These days, it was merely obligatory; a thoughtful keepsake Aragorn had allowed Faramir in deference to those who had protected Gondor before his return. The power of the Ruling Stewards had ended when his father Denethor had passed into the next world, bringing an end to a tradition that began with the death of King Eärnur and the establishment of Mardil Voronwë as the first Steward.

He was never supposed to lay claim to that title. All of Gondor knew it, perhaps even those who now lived under his protection in Ithilien. To them, he was the wild card that was never expected to be played. Before the return of the king, Gondor’s expectations of the Stewards and himself for that matter had been very precise. He was the younger son that was doomed to come second always, in the eyes of his people and his father. Denethor had never made it a secret with whom his favorlay and despite Faramir’s bitter disappointment at never being able to measure up to his father’s expectations, deep inside him he knew that Denethor had good reason for his choice. Boromir had always been better than he.

Existing in his brother’s shadow, even now, was something that Faramir had become accustomed to from the earliest memories of his life. In truth, Faramir could not blame everyone for thinking so highly of his brother when he himself, would feel awe in Boromir’s presence. They were five years apart in age but by the time he grew old enough to understand his situation in life, his brother was already on his way to becoming a great warrior. In those early years at least, Faramir drew comfort from their mother but Finduilas had passed on when he was but six years old and by then Denethor had already chosen his favorite between the two boys.

And it was clearly not Faramir.

A lesser man might have taken advantage of this state of affairs but Boromir did not. As boys, they were close because their father as a great a ruler as he was, was not an affectionate man. In their childhood, it was their mother who provided the warm embraces and the soft words that only a mother could say to make all ills fade. But when she was gone, he was only six years old to Boromir’s eleven and they had loved their mother very much. Aware perhaps of how her husband could be, she had raised Boromir to always cherish his brother, to protect him, though she never said from his father. Still Boromir despite his warrior heart, had more compassion than most would think it possible and it was easy for him to reach that understanding without her speaking the words.

"Are you awake?" He heard Eowyn’s drowsy voice asking him as she rolled over in their bed, draping an arm around him as she snuggled closer.

"Yes," he said with a little smile, feeling her nuzzle against his neck as she drew nearer to him.

The room was cold as always, an unfortunate side effect of living in the mountains. Although there was usually a fireplace to warm its confines, the flame from last night’s burning had dwindled into nothingness, leaving behind cold ashes in its wake. Eventually a servant would arrive to re-ignite the fire but none would dare invade the sanctity of their lord’s bedchamber without first being asked. Thus in the meantime, the only warmth that either of them could feel was with each other. Faramir was not about to complain.

"Are you all right?" she asked gently, her voice little more then a murmur for she was not entirely awake yet.

"I will live," he remarked clutching her hand in his and holding it tight against his chest, "it is just one day."

"I know," she said softly, "I just want you to know that I am here for you if you need me."

A little smile stole across his face as his heart swelled in love for his wife, prompting him to roll over so that he could look at her. It never ceased to astound him that a creature such as she could ever be his. He stared at Eowyn, basking in the sight of her golden hair framing her lovely face in an unruly tangle, the heavy lidded look of sleep that made her looked alluring and the scent of her that lingered on the sheets.

"What are you looking at?" Eowyn asked when her lids fluttered open and she caught him staring at her.

"At you," he answered, his eyes dancing with affection. "I love you with all my heart, have I told you that of late?"

Eowyn’s face melted into a smile, "not since last night."

"That is far too long," he replied and leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips.

"You are a such a romantic," she laughed when he pulled away a moment later.

  
"Well  _one_  of us has to be," he teased. "Leave it to you and all we will ever do is talk of swords."

"Well  _one_  of us has to know about them," she winked playfully before her expression became sober again. "Are you certain you are alright? I know how difficult this day is for you."

"It is difficult but you being by my side helps a great deal," Faramir replied sincerely and was rewarded by another beautiful smile.

"Let us go for a ride today," she suggested, propping herself up on an elbow as she grew more awake. "The hills are lovely at this time of the year."

"Are you attempting to distract me?" He stared at her.

"It depends," Eowyn said coyly, not at all guilty that she had been caught out in her efforts to sooth her lord’s passage through this day.

"Upon what?"

"Upon whether it has succeeded," she smiled.

"It did," he laughed even though they both knew that no amusement or distraction could make him forget what day it was. "I think I should like to escape these walls today. Perhaps a ride will make this day go faster."

However, even as he said those words, he knew that he was lying. Nothing would make this day go fast, no matter how much he deluded himself into thinking otherwise. It reminded him too much of another day, long ago when he had wished another day would go past quickly and was disappointed that it had not.

* * *

_It was his birthday._

_He was nine years old. It should have been a day to celebrate but Faramir was not about to delude himself that the occasion was going to be anything but uncomfortable, bordering on downright unpleasant. For the last three years since his mother had died, he had been existing with the purpose of never falling under his father’s gaze for too long. In his youthful mind, being noticed by Denethor was not entirely a good thing. When his father did deign to cast his eyes in Faramir’sdirection, it was often to point out how lacking he was in comparison to his brother. Unfortunately, hiding away with his books on this occasion was not even a remote possibility. Apparently, his father had remembered his birthday and summoned him to throne room._

_It should have pleased him that Denethor had remembered the occasion but for some reason he could not explain, Faramir was filled with trepidation. He approached the dais, upon which the empty throne sat, waiting for Gondor’s king while his father, who was all but a king, sat on a simple black chair of stone at the foot of it. He would have been completely terrified if not for the fact that Boromir was present. His brother stood at Denethor’s side, a little smile of encouragement on his face because he knew how things were between the younger son and his father. Boromir was fourteen years old but already, he was tall enough to be considered older. His limbs were beginning to fill out and there was no doubt that when the time came, he would be a great warrior for his people._

_Faramir_ _felt his anxiety ease a little as he reached Denethor, certain he could endure what was coming at knowing his brother was nearby. Denethor’s eyes studied him like the hawk studies a nestling will never fly and Faramir could not help but flinch under his deep scrutiny. Bowing his head and offering Denethor all the civilities that was expected of son by his father and more importantly by the Ruling Steward, Faramir waited in growing uneasiness to be addressed._

_"You are nine years old today," Denethor remarked with a smile but his eyes were hard as flint. "I would have celebrated the day but your brother tells me you would detest the fanfare."_

_"Yes Sir," he said quietly._

_"It is unfortunate that you do not socialize more," Denethor added. "A prince who will not rule should at least be a favorite of his people. You will not be able to do that cloistered in your room with only books for company."_

_"I am sorry," Faramir stammered, uncertain of what to say._

_His apology clearly irked Denethor but the Steward made no comment upon it. "I have decided that it is time you begin your instruction. Starting tomorrow, you will be instructed in the use of the sword and how to ride. Theoden has sent me one of his best horse masters to teach you."_

_The idea of riding was somewhat disconcerting to Faramir. Gondorians were not accustomed to horses as the people of Rohan. As far as he knew, horses were the purview of errand riders, not young lords who could barely reach a stirrup let alone attempt to mount a saddle._

_  
"I do not wish to ride," Faramir spoke before he thought, fear loosening his tongue to speak his mind._

_"It is nothing to be afraid of," Boromir interjected quickly before his father could say anything, hoping that Denethor would let the remark slide. "Your tutor knows his craft and he will show you that they are merely beasts to do our bidding, nothing more."_

_Unfortunately, that was not the end of it as Boromir hoped and Denethor’s voice soon responded sharply, "you are the son of the Steward and you will learn to ride. If you brother could manage it, I do not see why you cannot."_

_Faramir_ _felt a knife slice through his heart at those words. He had heard them so many times before, that inevitable comparison, and thought himself inured to it by now but each time the words were spoken anew, the words cut just as deeply as the first time._

_"I will do my best," he said meekly unable to look his father in the eye because Denethor would know that he was almost on the verge of tears and showing that much weakness to his father was a humiliation he could not bear. He was already feeling ashamed that he was so terribly weak and wondered why again, he could not be like his brother so his father would love him more._

_All this Boromir saw on his brother’s face and if Faramir was in pain, then Boromir felt it equally so except his was laced with anger at his father’s coldness._

_"That is all that can be expected of you," Denethor remarked. "You may go."_

_Boromir_ _watched Faramir’s shoulder sag as he left the throne room. Against his side, Boromir’s hands were knotting into fists. He did not speak as he watched Faramir disappear out of the room and reacted only after he and Denethor were alone again._

_"Why do you do that to him father?" Boromir asked quietly._

_"Do what to him?" Denethor’s gaze met that of his first born._

_"Make him feel as if he must live up to some ideal in order to gain your love?" Boromir stared hard at Denethor, anger had made him bold enough to speak his mind._

_"I was aware of doing nothing of the kind," Denethor replied. "He is my son just as you are and he must learnt that there is a world beyond books. Gondor needs warriors, not scholars! Scholars will not defeat the Nameless One or the darkness of Mordor! That is the work of warriors. It is time he learnt that. You certainly did not have trouble doing so at his age."_

_"That is true, " Boromir left Denethor’s side so that he might face his father. "I did not because my mother was still alive and what fears I had, she banished with her words of kindness and her love. Where are those things for Faramir father? Where? They do not come from you, that is for certain and I am not here enough to provide what you will not! He is just a boy and he is alone because you make him feel that way! What way is there for him but to retreat into his books? And I am not entirely convinced that it is a bad thing for warriors are not all merely about skill but also about intelligence. A thousand swords against the dark lord will do little in the greater scheme of things, you told me that. Perhaps in the end, it will be up to the scholars to end the Nameless One’s dark reign."_

_"Perhaps you are right," Denethor replied, feeling some sliver of guilt in his dealings with his younger son. "He is like his mother and not at all like you. I do not know what is always the best way to treat him."_

_  
"With love father," Boromir remarked sharply, picking up the gleaming sword sheathed in its new scabbard resting next to Denethor’s seat, "that is all."_

_"Where are you going?" Denethor asked as Boromir stormed away from his presence, not even asking to be dismissed._

_"To give him his birthday present," Boromir said coldly, "the one you forgot to give him."_

* * *

_It did not take him long to find Faramir once he had left his father. His brother was a creature of habit and the place he often found solace after one of these episodes with their father was usually in the library. The library of Gondor was hardly a pristine place of learning since it was much neglected during Denethor’sreign. The Steward had moved most of the important books into the treasury for his own private use and rarely visited the library any more . It did not surprise Boromir in the least that Faramir would hide within the walls of its dusty confines because it was almost as forgotten by Denethor as he was. Boromir stepped into the room and wondered how Faramir could endure the musty smell of old paper that greeted him upon his entry. He rubbed his nose instinctively and searched through the shelves of leather bound books and rolled parchment scrolls, seeking his brother._

_He knew Faramir was inside the library because he could hear the tell tale sounds of his brothers quiet tears. Once again, his heart ached in his chest, cursing his favor at having the share of his father’s love that should have been for Faramir. It was precisely because Faramir reminded him so much of Finduilas_  _that Boromirloved him so, though for his father, that quality was perceived as weakness not strength. Brushing the cobwebs aside, he followed the sounds of his brother’s tears while being lead through the winding rows of bookcases by the fresh air flowing in through an open window._

_" Faramir," Boromir called out as he approached, aware that it would embarrass his brother if he were to see his tears._

_"Go away!" A tearful but angry voice returned promptly._

_"Do you not want your birthday present?" Boromir asked, pausing just beyond sight of his brother. Without seeing where he was, Boromir knew that Faramir was most likely perched on the windowsill, overlooking the beauty of Minas Tirith below him as he wept his tears._

_"No!" Faramir returned petulantly. "I do not want anything ever again!"_

_Boromir_ _rolled his eyes and supposed that comforting someone was not always meant to be easy and he had played this role with Faramir too many times in the past three years to expect it to unfold any other way. "You do not have to be ashamed brother," Boromir said gently. "When I first rode a horse, I was afraid."_

_"You were not!" Faramir countered immediately. "I remember when you first learnt and you were not afraid at all!"_

_Boromir_ _muttered under his breath, supposing he should thought a little more before using that example to show empathy for his brother "I was afraid but I did not show it."_

_"You are never afraid," Faramir replied softly. "Father knows that. That is why he loves you and hates me."_

_There was so much pain in those few words that Boromir let out a strained breath, trying to control his own emotions. As much as he loved his father, he was furious with Denethor for being so one sided and no matter much he tried to fight for Faramir, it only succeeded in deepening Denethor’s favor because he appeared to be defender of the weak that the Steward needed him to be. He knew that Denethor did love Faramir but Denethor had a specific vision of how his son should be and at this point in time, Faramir did not meet that harsh standard._

_"He does not hate you Faramir," Boromir stepped into the small alcove within which Faramir was taking refuge on the window. "He simply does not understand you."_

_Faramir_ _had wiped away his tears but the redness of his cheeks and his eyes indicated that he had been crying. He did not meet his brother’s gaze, perhaps being somewhat ashamed for being caught weeping like a little babe. Boromir pulled up a chair and sat down, wishing more than anything that their mother was here for she always knew how to dry their tears and soothed whatever pains they felt._

_"I wish I was like you," Faramir swallowed. "I wish I was a great warrior."_

_  
"A great warrior?" Boromir snorted in amusement at that description. "I am an no more a warrior than you. At the moment, I follow the real warriors of Gondorand learnt from them. That is my whole existence, if I cannot hunt it, fight it or kill it, it is not worth knowing. My entire life is to learn to wage war, sometimes I think I prefer your books to so bloody a future."_

_"But you are so good at being a warrior," Faramir exclaimed with no small measure of bewilderment. While his father may be someone he feared and avoided, Boromir was another thing entirely. He fairly worshipped his older brother who was kind and brave and appeared unafraid of standing up to anyone or anything, even Denethor in his defense. "One day you will be Steward of Gondor, perhaps even a king."_

_"Steward is all that destiny will allow I am afraid to say," Boromir replied. "But I must learn just as you will must learn how to be a warrior. Father thinks that all you care of is books, that is not entirely true now is it?"_

_"No," Faramir shook his head. He would like to ride to far away places and fight terrible evils that he read about in books. He did not want his world to simply in the pages of this musty collection, he wanted a world beyond this room but he was a little afraid as well. "I would like to be learn how to fight and be a warrior as you."_

_"Well then you had better accept your present," Boromir retorted, producing the sword that had not been given to his brother earlier._

_"My present?" Faramir looked up in interest._

_"Father had it made for you," Boromir explained as he handed the weapon towards Faramir who was not curious enough to emerge from his place to take it._

_Unlike the normal broadswords wielded by warriors of Gondor, the blade presented to Faramir resembled more a dagger than an actual sword. Its size was in order to let its master bear it easily and it was crafted by dwarf smiths who ensured that it was light enough for Faramir to wield. It was the perfect weapon for a child to use in his first instruction to become a swordsman. Faramir took the sword and removed it from the scabbard, staring at it with such fascination that Boromir knew at that instant that Denethor was terribly mistaken that all Faramir would ever be was a scholar. Though he did not know how to wield it with any measure of skill, he held the weapon like he could master it in time._

_"What do you think?" Boromir asked as he saw Faramir draw it gingerly out of its scabbard._

_"Father had this made for me?" Faramir asked, unable to believe that Denethor would expend the energy to acquire him such a gift._

_"Yes," Boromir nodded. "He was rather surprised when I told him that you were not as lost in your books as he believed. Once he thought he might have another son who has a warrior spirit, there was nothing to stop him from ordering your gift made by the dwarfs. I think that is also part of the reason he wants you learn to ride a horse now, I doubted it ever occurred to him that you might want to learn."_

_"I do want to learn," Faramir admitted, "I am just a little afraid."_

_"Well then perhaps this day is not so entirely bad is it?" He cracked a smile and felt his heart warm when Faramir returned it with one of his own._

_"He still likes you better," Faramir pointed out._

_"He knows me better," Boromir countered, "perhaps we should help him get to know you as well."_

_Faramir_ _seemed reluctant and preferred to concentrate on his gift by testing its weight in his hand and slashing at the air like he was a real swordsman._

_" Faramir, I know he is a hard man but he must be," Boromir added in a more serious tone. "The Steward must be hard to protect all of Gondor from Mordor. The demon residing beyond the mountains has made him this way but that does not mean he loves you not. He simply finds it difficult to show it because he does not know you like I do."_

_"Nobody know me like you do Boromir," Faramir lowered the sword in his hand, "nobody at all."_

_"Come here," Boromir took a step towards him and gave him a warm embrace. "You are my brother and I will always protect you but you must learn to stand on your own. Your path is your own to walk Faramir, do not let father sway you from it if that is what you truly desire."_

_"I will," Faramir replied and then brandished his sword with a playful gleam in his eyes, "starting right this minute!"_

_"Oh you want to fight?" Boromir chuckled and drew his own sword, more than prepared to engage his brother in a mock battle, "I’ll teach you to challenge me…!"_

* * *

"Where are you?" He heard Eowyn’s voice in his ear and turned to his wife who was astride her horse next to him.

"Right here with you," he answered, throwing her a warm smile as they continued their ride through the resplendent beauty of Emyn Arnen. It was summer and the heat of the day, tickled their skin with its sunshine. They were surrounded by the hills that made up the mountain range with the cascade of Henneth Annûn flowing in the distance. Eowyn had suggested they ride to his former refuge and Faramir could not deny that it was lovely enough to warrant the effort. His wife was taking great pains to see him through this day and he was not going to disappoint her by being anything less than enthusiastic.

"You seemed very far away then," she remarked.

"I was," he confessed because she could always see through him so easily. "I was thinking of my brother."

"On this day, that is hardly surprising," she replied sympathetically as they made their way through a grass covered knoll towards the trail leading through the hills, "you loved him a great deal."

"I did," Faramir nodded. "With my father’s favor, he did not have to fight for me but he did and  _often_. I wish he was still here, he deserves to be."

"He died doing what he did best, protecting the weak," Eowyn reminded. "What happened with the One Ring was not his fault."

"I know," Faramir nodded, knowing more about the One Ring then she did. He knew its power of seduction and how it would have tricked Boromir into thinking that acquiring it would be the way to save Gondor. Of all the terrible deeds that Sauron had been responsible, it was for that which Faramir hated him most, the corruption of his brother by that damned ring. "I wonder though how it would have been if he had lived. Would he have followed Aragorn as king if our father had opposed it?"

"I think he would have done what was best for Gondor," Eowyn answered without doubt.

For a second, Faramir did not speak, his face riddled with remorse she could not begin to understand. "It was hard knowing that he was dead, hearing that his need to protect me lead to his death. Until this day, I still believe I should have gone in his place. I understood Isildur’s Bane far better than he did. I know what it was capable of from the times that Gandalf began studying the old texts, trying to discern the history and lore of the One Ring."

"You cannot blame yourself," she touched him arm gently, her eyes filled with worry that he might do just that.

"I do not blame myself but I should have gone. Hearing of his death was a blow that I never dared imagine for fear it would come true. But there was hardly time to mourn him with the Battle of Pelennor and that wound struck upon me by the beast of Angmar."

Hearing Faramir speak of the Witch King made Eowyn shudder slightly, even though she was the one who had killed the terrible creature in the end. In better times, Faramir had often joked that he had married her out of gratitude for killing the enemy that had almost ended his life. Yet there was no humor in his voice as he spoke now, words dripping with bitterness as well as sadness.

"When I awoke, I had lost everything, not merely my brother, but also my father and what I thought was my future," Faramir recounted quietly what it had been like to awake in the House of Healing and discover that he had lost his entire family. "In the face of such loss, I cannot help but think that if I had gone, everything would have been different."

* * *

_They could not be stopped._

_They were coming._

_The enemy had driven them back against the river, with their fortress burning in flames behind them. The eastern forces were dwindled to himself, Boromir, who struggling to move through the water besides him and two others who were fighting exhaustion to keep going. He cast a glimpse over his shoulder and saw the ruins of the Osiligath behind him. Boromir’s hand was locked around his arm, ensuring that they made the crossing together. Their clothes and weapons were a terrible weight to carry across the Anduin but they were too terrified to relinquish their only means of protection. The bridge they had defended so valiantly as the eastern forces were driven back now lay beneath the dark water of the river._

_Even through the rush of water around their ears, they could hear the cries of victory from the forces of the Enemy; Easterling voices mingled with that of orcs and Uruk Hai as they howled their triumphant push through the eastern shores that would soon spill upon the western lands. Fighting exhaustion and fear, they forced all thoughts of what was behind them in order and fixed their minds on crossing the river to safe shores on the other side. Throughout this ordeal, Boromir’s hand had remained clenched around Faramir’s arm, frightened to let his brother go in case he disappeared like so many others who had done during the battle that had been fought here. Even though Faramir was a seasoned warrior by now and a Ranger of Ithilien, to Boromir he was always going to be his younger brother and the need to protect him was equally eternal._

_After what seemed like hours instead of minutes, they finally felt the shale sand of the shore under their boots as they dragged themselves out of the freezing water. All four collapsed along the embankment of the Anduin, weary not merely from their crossing of the river but also from the battle that had preceded it. Gazing across the river, Boromir felt his stomach clench at the sight of the fires burning in midst of the ruined Osiligath. Their flames lit up the sky as if it were day and in that illumination, they could all see the bodies of their dead comrades lying on the ground, blooding the earth where they had fallen. Boromir did not think the Enemy would give them leave to reclaim their dead or send them into the next life like honored warriors should be when they had died in battle._

_"We need to regroup," Faramir remarked once the breath had returned to him. "We need to strengthen our line of defense. Now that they have driven us off theOsiligath, they will be far bolder. They will try to cross the river."_

_"They will not try," Boromir said grimly, wiping a strand of wet hair from his eyes. "They will do it. There is nothing to stop them. Our own forces as defeated and what there is, will soon be withdrawn to defend Minas Tirith. Father will not expend them here when the heart of Gondor is under threat."_

_"We need allies," Faramir nodded, agreeing with Boromir’s assessment of the situation and yet he did not feel happy about abandoning these lands to the Enemy. "Father must asked Theoden for aid."_

_"I do not know whether they will help us," Boromir replied. "Rumor has it that Theoden no longer rules the court of Meduseld, his counselor does and he does not seem predisposed to angering the Enemy lest Rohan should suffer our fate."_

_"We have an alliance," Faramir stared at him in shock, unable to believe that the Rohirrim would ignore a call for help. "They must help us."_

_"Alliances are broken every day brother," Boromir answered sadly, "and I fear that unless something extraordinary happens in Meduseld, we will receive no aid from Theoden.’_

_They rested a little more at the shore before embarking wearily on the trek to rejoin what was left of their forces guarding the Western Shore. Their arrival in camp did nothing to improve the morale of the troops who knew what had taken place at the Osiligath. Their failure to defend the last bridge from the Enemy weighed heavily on their minds and when though he was exhausted, he found no sleep when he was finally shown a place to rest._

_Faramir_ _, on the other hand, had fallen asleep immediately and Boromir envied him his ability to do so. Faramir seemed to be able to handle the unfortunate turns of life much better than he. In that way, he was like their father though Faramir would never believe it and neither would Denethor for that matter. Like their father, Faramir worried little about things he could not change, choosing instead to move on to things that were within his control unlike Boromir whose natural stubbornness would not allow him to relent, even in the face of overwhelming odds. However, his brother also knew when it was necessary to hold his ground and on the eastern shore, Boromir had never seen him more determined or never been prouder to be fighting at his side._

_Suddenly his attention was drawn away from his thoughts by the sound of Faramir releasing an uncomfortable groan in his sleep. Boromir sat up immediately in his bedroll and saw him brother twitching in his slumber. He wondered if Faramir was being visited by nightmares. After what they had endured, it was certainly possible and not unexpected. Whatever his brother was seeing in the dreamscape was clearly agitating him by the increasing anxiety he was displaying in his restless tossing and turning. Boromir was almost tempted to wake him when suddenly Faramir sat upright, his body covered in perspiration._

_" Faramir, are you alright?" He asked with concern._

_Faramir_ _ran his finger through his still wet hair and took a deep breath as if to steady himself. He looked clearly unsettled and Boromir wondered what horrors had he seen in his dream._

_  
"Yes," he answered after a few seconds when he was aware of Boromir’s gaze upon him. "I am fine. I was having a dream."_

_"More like a nightmare if you woke up with such abruptness," Boromir remarked, propping himself up on one elbow as he regarded his brother._

_"It was strange," Faramir muttered softly, clearly troubled by what he had seen but appearing reluctant to speak of it. "I have never dreamed in that manner before."_

_"What do you mean?" Boromir questioned._

_"With such urgency," he confessed. "It felt as if something important needed revelation but I cannot for the life of me understand what it was."_

_"Tell me," Boromir asked looking at him intently, similarly unsettled as Faramir now._

_Faramir_ _stared at his brother, understanding more of what he had seen in his dream state then he would care to admit. In the years since his youth, he remembered how Boromir felt about his father remaining a Steward even though he was by all rights a king. It irked him that no matter how Denethor or the sons of Denethorfought for the kingdom of Gondor, they would never be considered its rightful rulers. While Faramir had no desire to be king or a prince for that matter, the question plagued Boromir and what Faramir had seen in his dream stabbed the very heart of that wound._

_As much as he loved his brother, Faramir also feared for Boromir because he knew what was coming even though he was uncertain of how it all would turn out exactly. Yet the dream had revealed enough for him to know that Boromir was in great danger and it had little to do with orcs or even Sauron and everything to do with Boromir himself._

_Seek for the Sword that was broken:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-spells._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That Doom is near at hand,_

_For Isildur’s Bane shall waken,_

_And the Halfling forth shall stand._

* * *

_For once in his life, he and his father were in agreement. Denethor did not wish Boromir to make the journey to find Imladris, the dwelling place of the elven lord Elrond who was considered the greatest lore master in Middle earth. The dream that he had hoped to keep to himself had returned not only to him on another night but also to Boromir. With Gondor on the brink of falling to the Nameless One’s forces, his brother was more eager to find help for his people in any way possible, even if it meant travelling across Middle earth to reach the fabled Imladris. When they had brought their dream to their father Denethor, who had for years kept all the ancient texts of Gondor within his treasury, instead of the library where they should be, it was Denethor who told them of Imladris or Rivendell as it was known to the Westernesse._

_Faramir_ _who knew more than anyone could have possibly imagined about Isildur’s Bane, had beseeched his father to let him go to Imladris, to answer the riddle that was plaguing both him and his brother. Denethor was more than happy to let this happen until Boromir demanded that he go instead and his insistence on going gave Faramir real concern. Denethor was not eager to let his son, the High Warden of the White Tower and the captain-general of his army to leave for so long a time, especially when Gondor was in the midst of war._

_However, Boromir was determined no matter how much Faramir or Denethor attempted to convince him otherwise. While Denethor’s desire to keep his son close was for obvious reasons, Faramir was gripped with a good deal of concern for his brother. Faramir knew a good deal about the One Ring, how it used the desires of its wearer against themselves. Boromir’s determination to save Gondor and see their father finally become the king he should be was a fire burning inside him and was the kind of passion that could become dangerous if manipulated._

_Despite Faramir’s earnest efforts to dissuade his brother from the course Boromir had chosen, to let Faramir go in his place, the captain of Gondor would hear none of it. He was intent on going and after awhile, even Denethor had relented and given his son permission to take his leave of Minas Tirith much to Faramir’sregret. Boromir claimed that the journey to Imladris was long and treacherous, that he would not place his younger brother in such peril but Faramir knew better. Boromir’s mind was beginning to churn with the same fever that had forced Isildur to keep the ring for himself instead of destroying it as he should have when it was cut from Sauron’s finger._

_Faramir_ _had remembered praying that Elrond of Imladris was as wise enough to ensure that Boromir would never came within arm’s reach of that damned ring._

_"Are you certain that you wish to do this?" Faramir asked Boromir one final time as he prepared to mount his horse in order to begin the long journey to Imlardis._

_"My answer has not changed since the last time you asked," Boromir retorted, casting a look at his brother as he readied his horse and saddle for the ride ahead. "Yes, I am certain I wish to go. The way is perilous between us and the valley of the elves, I would spare you that danger."_

_Faramir_ _bit his tongue, aware that as much as Boromir may attempt to convince himself that his decision to embark upon this journey was for his brother's protection, there was a darker reason for this insistence on going himself. However, Faramir would not be unkind enough to say so, not when the journey to Imladris would ensure that they did not see each other for quite some time. Faramir did not want their parting to be laced with bitterness even though there was a heavy feeling in his heart that he could not dispel, a feeling that held the portents of tragedy._

_"I am old enough to fend for myself you know," Faramir remarked instead. "Being a Ranger has made it a necessary requirement. I am not a child that I need your protection."_

_"I know," Boromir softened a little in his manner. "But you are my brother and the only person save my father whom I care about in this world. I would not risk you for anything."_

_"It is for you that I fear," Faramir replied, touched by the sentiment but undeceived at that being the only reason for Boromir's decision to go instead of him. "You go too often where others fear to tread and you have more bravery then you have sense. I fear that you may be tricked into believing that you can handle any situation when it is you that is being handled."_

_Boromir_ _stared at him oddly, not understanding the full weight of his words. There would be a time in the future when Faramir would wonder if he had, would the course of events that led to his death taken a different turn._

_"You say the oddest things at times brother," Boromir shook his head turning away._

_Faramir_ _let out a deep sigh, realising that he could not sway his brother’s mind on the course he had chosen to embark. There was nothing left to say even though a warning about Isildur’s Bane lingered on the tip of his tongue, wanting badly to be heard while there was still time. However, Faramir knew to utter anything about the One Ring would do more harm than good because speaking it out loud would give it power in Boromir’s mind for the span of the journey to Imladris. Isildur’sBane was now a mere shadow of hope for Boromir, something for which he grasped at wildly in his efforts to save Gondor and their people. It was not real to him and Faramir hope he would never come within sight of it for that to change._

_" Boromir!" Faramir called out suddenly when his brother faced his horse again._

_Boromir_ _turned around to the receiving end of a fierce embrace. For a moment, he was filled with surprise as he felt Faramir hugging him tight, in a manner he had not done since he was a small boy, weeping tears caused by Denethor, dried by his older brother’s love and kind words. The gesture filled the captain of Gondorwith deep sentiment and there was something in this that made his heart ache; though he knew not why._

_"I love you brother," Faramir said softly, his eyes full of sadness so much like their mother’s Boromir thought. "You have played a great part in my life to such extent that I do not think you will every truly know but before you ride Imladris, I will have you know that you have been brother, friend, teacher and my comrade. I will feel the emptiness where you should be until we meet again."_

_"What frightens you so young one?" Boromir asked as he saw the intense emotions playing across his brother’s face._

_Faramir_ _almost told him but he could not say it out loud, fearing that to speak it might make it come true and that was something he could not even begin to imagine, "I will miss you that is all. These are troubled times, it is good to say what is in one’s heart while there is leave to do so."_

_‘Do not be so grim," Boromir remarked with a wry smile, ruffling Faramir’s hair as if he were a small boy again. "I will go to Imladris and I will find the answer to this riddle. If the gods are kind, we will also find some way to help our people and I will come to home to you and father. We will see each other again Faramir," he said seriously as if he was making an oath and in truth he was. "I promise you that."_

_Faramir_ _nodded slowly, wanting more than anything else in the world to believe him. "Good journey Boromir," Faramir said finally as Boromir drew away from him and started to climb into his saddle._

_"You take care of our father and yourself while I am gone, you are all each other has," Boromir instructed, always playing the part of intermediary between the two. He settled into his saddle, his hands holding the reins of his steed in preparation to depart._

_  
Faramir  looked at his brother, the image of the proud warrior astride his horse, appearing ready to ride into the world and fight whatever darkness waited him in it. Whether or not Faramir knew it then but in years to come, it would be this image that his mind would remember when he thought of his brother. A smile crossed his face as he waved Boromir farewell._

_"Remember," Boromir grinned as he dug his heels into the flanks of the horse and prompted it into moving, "we will see each other again!"_

_  
And as he rode away, Faramir knew that he would not, that he and Boromir would never lay eyes upon each other again._

***********

"He did keep his promise," Faramir declared as he rested with his head on Eowyn’s lap, his body stretched languidly across the blanket she had brought along with their picnic lunch.

"How so?" Eowyn asked as her hand stroked the strands of his gold hair.

They were resting under a tree not far from the cascade of Henneth Annûn where they had dined with the lunch prepared by the cook at their court, enjoying the heat of the day before Faramir began speaking about Boromir again. Eowyn had listened gently, having been accustomed to his need to speak of his brother during this day in the years since becoming his wife. She did not mind for she too sometimes grew melancholy when she thought of Theoden and she knew something of Boromir herself, enough to know that he was a good man, mourned not only by his brother but by her as well.

"Til this day I do not know if it was a vision I saw or had I merely fallen asleep on the banks of the Anduin and dreamt it all during the brief time we had held back the Enemy from Osiligath. Perhaps it is not for me to know for certain what it was. I only know that I saw a boat, a grey boat with a high prow on the waters of the Anduin. I went to it, wading through the water to but it remained beyond my reach. I saw him in that boat, appearing as if he was asleep, peaceful I suppose. I knew then he was dead, that through the grace of forces of I do not understand, I was allowed to say goodbye after a fashion. Perhaps his valor had allowed him to keep his promise to me, I do not know but I knew when the boat sailed away from me that I lost him, I had lost my brother."

Faramir blinked and a warm tear rolled down his cheek and his breath caught his throat. He closed his eyes to regain his composure and felt Eowyn’s finger brushing that stray drop of water from his face.

  
"He is gone from you but I doubt that you ever lost him Faramir," she said gently. "One so strong and brave and determined to protect you would not be kept from that charge even in death. You may not see him but I know he is here and he watches over you, as only he can. He lives on in your heart, my love, do you not see that? You carry him wherever you go and keep him alive in your thoughts."

"I miss him so much," Faramir whispered, his voice breaking a little. "I wish he could have seen how much the world has changed, how great Gondor has become."

"I’m sure he can," Eowyn smiled, "I’m sure he can."

* * *

_"I don’t like the look of him," he looked up at his father after catching his first glimpse at the small pink thing in its cradle. Was this the reason his mother’s belly had swollen so and had made Finduilas scream with pain? The child resolved himself not to like this sudden intruder into his life._

_"He’s small and ugly," he added firmly._

_Denethor_ _cracked a smile and gazed down at his fivc year old son with some amusement at the stare he was giving the infant with such trepidation, "I am certain you will become accustomed to him Boromir."_

_"I don’t want to," Boromir insisted. "I don’t even like him."_

_The infant stared at his brother with a frown on his bow shaped lips and Boromir wondered how he could be expected to like something wearing a face like that._

_"He won’t always be this small Boromir," Denethor remarked. "Faramir will grow and you will be his older brother. It will be your job to protect him and teach him the ways of the world."_

_Boromir_ _stared at his father with a raised brow, "all right then," the child conceded that much but refused to admit defeat and added promptly, "but I still won’t like him."_


	7. The Diamond in the Library

The inn of the Prancing Pony had not changed much over the years.

It was still the favorite watering hole of many Breelanders even though to the hobbits that were presently drinking there, it retained its sordid and somewhat sinister atmosphere. Long shadows seemed to fill every corner of the seedy establishment, with faces peering through the gaps of light that could easily perceived as ominous if one did not know better. Patrons sat in their corners, nursing drinks, staring furtively about the place, stealing glances at other drinkers, trying to guess one another's agendas, whether was they were here merely for the drink, the lodgings or simply because there was nowhere else to go. It was a place that felt like a haven for lost souls or the last port of call for restless travelers during a storm.

It was another typical night at the inn.

The hobbits came here every year and every year Barlimann would put them up at the same table, present them all with pints of draught and prepare rooms for their eventual retirement in the small hours of the morning. They would drink and eat, then return to their rooms before setting out for the Shire once again, never to return together unless some specific business brought them to Bree, until the next year. To Barlimann, it was like the changing of the season to see the small gentlemen appeared in his establishment and after the second year, he no longer waited until they arrived to prepare their room in readiness for their eventual appearance.

For many years, there were four hobbits that made the annual pilgrimage to Bree. The one that Barlimann knew as Frodo Baggins often appeared too frail to make the journey and gave the innkeeper concern by the shadowy look in his eyes. Then six years ago, Baggins stopped making the journey and though Barlimann would have liked to inquire as to the fate of the missing hobbit, he had a feeling his posed question would not be answered and so thus he did not bother to ask. He merely furnished the remaining hobbits with their pints and the best meal his cook could offer along with the best hobbit sized rooms in the house and accepted that his role in the play of their lives was to involve no more than that.

* * *

If Barlimann had asked the hobbits what they were celebrating with this annual ritual, it was quite possible he might have received an answer in some form. It was Frodo who had begun the practice of making this annual pilgrimage, possibly out of some need to always have those who were closest to his heart know what it meant to him when they accompanied him on the perilous quest to destroy the One Ring. Thus every year, on the anniversary of their arrival in Bree as well as their historic meeting with their much loved friend Strider, the hobbits gathered here to share a drink and each others company as they recounted old times.

Now that Frodo was gone across the sea, it felt all the more important to continue the ritual because it was good to face each other as they were when they had first embarked upon the quest, three young hobbits swept away by dark times to a great adventure. These days, they had a kind of celebrity in the Shire and their lives seemed very far removed from the young hobbits they had been when they first came to Bree. Sam had become Mayor in Frodo’s stead, a rather elevated place for so simple a hobbit, he often thought. Of course, Rosie had told him often enough that he was the only one who considered himself simple, though she had doubts about herself since he could be so obtuse about the obvious.

Meanwhile, Merry and Pippin often found themselves recounting their adventures abroad, from the battle of Bywater to their earlier adventures with the Fellowship. Their part in the Battle of Bywater had won them the labels of Captains and heroes. However, they received the honor with amusement at the realization that it had been bestowed upon them without the Shire even being remotely interested in the fact that one of them had once killed a troll and the other had helped with the defeat of the Witch King. Despite this, the duo enjoyed their fame immensely, throwing great parties and wearing their mail and for all to see as they traveled about the Shire, telling their tales of the outside world.

"So did you hear?" Sam remarked after they had toasted their latest excursion to the Bree and settled down into more friendly chatter.

"Hear what?" Pippin asked before taking a long sip of his pint.

"Diamond of Long Cleeves is taking over the library,"

Pippin started coughing loudly as he choked on the draught that seemed to have taken the wrong way to his stomach at that announcement.

Merry and Sam exchanged knowing glances before Merry turned to his best friend, "so I take it you didn’t hear then?" A spark of mischief gleamed in his eyes as he regarded his friend who always had a little crush on the lovely hobbit maiden with the golden colored hair.

"No," Pippin said once he had collected himself, wiping his lips with a handkerchief. "I didn’t hear. I lost touch with her after we set off on the quest and never got around to seeing her again."

"Well she hasn’t been very sociable after what happened," Sam remarked, feeling for the poor woman since he was aware of her tragic situation.

"That’s right, she was engaged to Drogo Hedgeworth from Woodhall," Merry declared upon realizing why he remembered Diamond’s history so well. "He was killed during Bywater wasn’t he?"

"He was," Pippin nodded somberly, still feeling as badly for Diamond as when he had first learnt that one of the nineteen hobbits killed during the Battle of Bywaterhad been Drogo Hedgeworth. Pippin had always harbored a secret crush on Diamond but could never summon the nerve to speak to the beautiful, young hobbit lass. He had always admired her straight golden hair, worn loose like a glittering cascade over her shoulders and could never produce a single intelligible word whenever she smiled at him. Pippin supposed that in the wake of her loss, that smile would have been a long time in coming again.

"Anyway," Sam remarked, pretending to feign nonchalance at Pippin’s obvious lingering affections for Diamond. "She’s come to stay with her aunt Willow whose getting on in years and not up to looking after the old library anymore. I mean it took its turn on Willow seeing to it that none of Sharkey’s men razed it to the ground during those dark times."

Willow of Long Cleeves had been the guardian of the local Shire library for the past fifty years and had protected her charge most fiercely during the time when Saruman had invaded the Shire. It was said that she was even more determined and feisty than Lobelia Sackville Baggins but fortunately, not as shrewish which was why she had not ended up in Lobelia’s company during the lady’s imprisonment. Since she was content to remain quiet as long as her beloved library was not interfered with, Saruman’s men were of the belief that it was best to leave her be and not invite the grief of trying to dislodge her.

  
In truth, Diamond was actually her grand niece and Pippin supposed that if Diamond was ready to leave her grief for Drogo behind, taking her aunt’s place at the library was the place to start.

"Well that’s nice," Pippin said taking another sip. "I suppose we’ll see her around then."

"See her around?" Merry stared at his friend in astonishment. "You’ve been carrying a torch for that lass since before Bywater! I would think you would be doing more than that."

"Like what?" Pippin retorted annoyed because he had no wish to discuss Diamond so publicly.

"Like calling on her!" Merry snorted as if Pippin had suddenly striped naked and was dancing on the table. "Honestly Pip, you can be rather thick at times."

"I can’t just call on her!" Pippin burst out so loudly that he drew the attention of a few Breelanders who glanced their way with curiosity.

"Why not?" Sam asked pointedly. "You’re not as young as you were when we left the Shire. You’re a grown hobbit now, well in theory anyway. I don’t see why you aren’t settling down with a nice girl."

"Well not all of us had someone like Rosie waiting for us when we got back," the youngest of the Fellowship said snippily.

"What do you want to do?" Merry added. "Wait until you’re Legolas’ age before you get married?"

"No," Pippin replied darkly, wishing they would just let the matter drop. "I mean what reason would I have to just bump in on her?"

"Well she does work at a library," Sam suggested, "perhaps you might try borrowing a book."

"What do I want with a book?" Pippin blurted out.

Merry dropped his face in his hands and shook his head in resignation, "this is going to be a lot harder then we thought."

* * *

Pippin had thought he was terrified when he had faced the troll, however it was nothing in compared to how he felt as he was being ushered through the doors of the library by Merry and Estella Bolger.

  
This had not seemed like such a terrible idea when Sam, Merry and he had been discussing it that night at Bree but Pippin supposed after many pints of draught, invading Mordor would sound like a good a idea. However, now that it was time to put the plan into action, Pippin found his resolve fading. He wondered whether or not he was being foolish. After all, he had faced far more terrifying things in his time and emerged unscathed. Why should calling into the library to say hello to Diamond frighten him so much?

Because he really liked her.

Until now, he had considered her a chapter unwritten in his life and most likely to remain that way even if he never forgot how she made him feel and still did. Even now, the memory of her smile could make his heart beat faster and inspire dreams of things he usually never concerned himself with like marriage and children. Well he was not young any more and adventure was something he had experienced, just like its uglier aspects, danger and death. He knew of late that he had been searching for something that not even his friendship with Merry or the parties they threw could satisfy. Perhaps Sam was right, it was time to find a nice girl and settled down. However, he was still unconvinced that Diamond would be agreeable to play that part in his life.

"Are we going to do this or not?" Estella Bolger asked impatiently.

Estella, unlike her brother Fredegar, was never cursed with the weightiness that seemed to plague all Bolgers and was very pleasant to look at. She had dark hair and soft brown eyes that framed her lovely features and would have been a good match for any gentlemen if not for her somewhat acidic manner. She spent most of her days working in the markets but had set aside some spare time to help her brother’s childhood friends with desire to see Diamond. She knew for a fact that Pippin, though like Merry was rather immature for a hobbit who had traveled the world and fought in battle, was generally of good character pr else she would not have bothered to inflict either of them upon Diamond.

  
"Of course we are," Merry retorted, securing his hold around Pippin as he continued towards the library.

"I don’t think this is such a good idea," Pippin offered ineffectually as he was unwillingly led to the entrance. "I mean what if she doesn’t even remember me?"

"Then she’s be luckier than I," Estella remarked sourly.

Merry straightened up and looked up at her, "must you be so negative about things? He just needs to work up his courage."

"Oh wonderful," she shook her head in sarcasm, "he can fight Sharkey’s men but when it comes to talking to a woman, he has to  _sum_   _up_  courage. Very flattering."

"Well  _some_  women are more frightening than Saruman," Merry muttered under his breath and glared at the tail end of Estella’s flouncing skirt when she turned her back on him and continued through the door, no longer bothering to wait for either of them. "Come on Pippin, I’m not going through all this for nothing."

"Going through what?" Pippin demanded as they started towards the entrance of the library.

"Putting up with  _that_  woman to help you," Merry hissed, his faced scowling as he followed Estella.

The library of Hobbiton was not very big. The entire history of the Shire was contained within its walls and its size was a testament to how much of it there was by the size allotted for its keeping. In its entirety, the library would have been no larger than Bag End itself if all the internal walls had been knocked down and only the outside ones were left standing. The wooden floor was polished and like all shire buildings, the room was circular with round windows. Most of the walls were covered with heavy wooden shelves laden with leather bound volumes of books that were surprisingly dust free.

It appeared they were the first visitors of the day, even though it was noon outside. Pippin could only stare as saw Diamond seated behind the counter, her long hair draped over her shoulder as she paid deep concentration to the book before her. She had not changed much in all the years he had known her and when she raised her eyes to him at their arrival, he felt his throat go suddenly dry. If not for Merry holding his elbow surreptitiously to ensure he kept moving, he would have most likely remained where he was, gawking at her.

"Hello Diamond," Estella took the lead and broke the silence first.

"Hello Estella," Diamond said politely, "finished your book already?"

"Yes," Estella smiled brightly, "it was very good as you said. I didn’t think we kept such saucy things in here."

"Well some of the older ladies like it," Diamond remarked with a little crook of her brow and a slight smirk. "Shall I recommend you another one?"

"If you please," Estella retorted. "And while you’re at it, you might as well find something for Pippin there as well."

"Oh?" She turned her eyes upon Pippin. "You want me to recommend you something?"

"Yes," Pippin managed to say after Merry elbowed him sharply in the back to prompt him into speaking. "I’ve been having trouble a little trouble sleeping lately and thought a good book might help."

Pippin was rather proud of his response and was even more pleased when she seemed satisfied by his answer.

"Good idea," she nodded in approval. "Any idea what you want to read?"

Pippin blinked, having never considered his brilliant deception would succeed far enough for him to require this particular detail. "I don’t know…" he stammered uncertainly.

Merry tried not to curse under his breath and wondered if Estella was right, that this was not a disastrous idea to begin with. "Why don’t you suggest something, Diamond? Pippin doesn’t know what he likes."

"Yes I do," Pippin suddenly became very animated, deciding he did not need Merry to help him talk to Diamond after all. "I like history books," he found himself saying.

"History books?" Merry and Estella exclaimed in unison.

Diamond was growing a little suspicious of the strange behavior of the trio but chose to ignore it. After all Merry and Pippin, despite being heroes had been abroad and their conduct could be excused by the influences by the outside world, while Estella was probably trying to keep them from embarrassing her. Besides, Pippin had voiced a request and that was something she could help him with despite the peculiar manner of he and his company.

"Well we have many books on Shire history," Diamond offered kindly, "all the way back to the Greenfields in 1147. There’s many fascinating volumes on the settlement of the Shire if that’s how your fancy goes."

"What about outside the Shire?" Pippin found himself asking for no particular reason.

"Outside the Shire?" She stared at him in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"I mean outside the Shire, in the lands beyond the Shire, like Rohan and Gondor. Don’t we have any books about that?" Pippin asked, finding it very disturbing that the scope of historical record in the Shire did not extend beyond its boundaries.

"The hobbits of the Shire are not concerned with the affairs of other races Pippin," Diamond retorted, finding his pointed questions rather flustering. "We don’t have any."

"At all?" He exclaimed, forgetting quickly what he had come here for in the first place in the light of this disturbing revelation. "We have no books of any kind about the elves, the dwarfs or the big folk?"

"No," she stared at him, wondering if he was mad. It was a way of life that hobbit had no general interest in the world outside. After all, to the average Shire inhabitant, what point was there to nose around the business of men and elves or even dwarves for that matter, when they had their own concerns to deal with? "We only have books on the Shire," she repeated.

"That is disgraceful!" Pippin exploded in open horror.

"Pippin," Merry tried to stay his friend’s excited manner as he saw Diamond stiffening in annoyance. "I don’t think this is the time to discuss it."

"How can you say that?" Pippin whirled around and faced him. "Look at what we’ve been through. In the last few years, we’ve seen Sauron and Mordor destroyed the reunification of Arnor and Gondor, we saw the Ents march on Isengard and the Riders of Rohan defending their lands against Orcs and other terrible things. Are you going to tell me its right to let all that disappear into nothingness? Don’t you want people to know about Boromir and how he died to protect us, or how Theoden led the Rohirrim to Pelennor? Don’t you want people to know how you and Eowyn fought the Witch King? What about Aragorn and how he became king? Or even Frodo with everything he went through to destroy that dammed ring? How can we just let that all go without even writing it down!"

"Isn’t Sam doing that?" Merry pointed out; uncertain of how to answer his friend because he had not seen Pippin so properly provoked in a long time. It was like seeing Ents on the march.

"I think he is but there’s more than just this age! What about all those other ages and other heroes like Beren and Luthien, or Gilga-lad and Elendill? You can’t let all of that get forgotten."

"He’s lost his mind," Estella declared.

"Pippin maybe we should come back," Merry started towing him out the door. "When you’re a little less excitable."

"It’s a disgrace that’s what it is!" Pippin was still raving as he was dragged out the door, leaving Estella and Diamond staring after him with astonishment.

"I am sorry Diamond," Estella apologized after a long pause since neither could think of anything to say after the departure of the two Shire heroes. "I had no idea that he was insane."

Inwardly, Estella made a note to tell Meriadoc Brandybuck that he was never to ask a favor of her again. If truth were known, she had only consented to this because Fredegar considered them his best friends and she had known them for almost as long as her brother. There was also this unspoken wish that perhaps Diamond might actually show some interest in Pippin since she had been living in something of an emotional vacuum since Drogo’s passing.

"Oh its alright," Diamond turned away from the entrance where the two men had disappeared, a rather thoughtful expression on her face. "I had no idea he was so passionate about things."

"Is that what you call it?" Estella’s brow crooked in skepticism.

"I think so," she said with bemusement. "You know I never thought he had such deep thoughts in his head. Before he went away, he didn’t seem all that grown up to be. I think the last time I remembered seeing him was during Bilbo Baggins’ party. Remember that?"

"I don’t think anyone in the Shire every forgot," Estella shrugged, starting to realize that Pippin may have done himself a good turn with Diamond after all, despite his ludicrous outburst.

"It was the last time things were ever normal in the Shire," Diamond said sadly, remembering how she and Drogo had danced at the party and how he had walked her home after the celebration had ended following Bilbo’s sudden disappearance.

"If you ask me, Pippin and Merry are turning out to be just as peculiar as old Bilbo," Estella pointed out. "Fancy wanting books about the history of other places? What use is to us anyway? We’re Shire folk, we have our own ways of doing things."

Diamond did not answer her friend but she disagreed with Estella’s perception that it was unnecessary to know what was going on in the outside world. The scourging of the Shire by Sharkey’s men had proved how vital it was for Shire folk to know exactly what was happening in the world around them because too often, they were being caught unawares when danger came upon them.

Diamond resolved herself to tell Pippin the next time she saw him how right he was.

* * *

"WHAT IN THE NAME OF GANDALF’S GREAT GREY BEARD WAS THAT ABOUT?" Merry demanded as soon they were a suitable distance away from the library, having held his tongue back until now so that he could vent his disgust at Pippin’s behaviour with the loudness it deserved.

"What do you mean?" Pippin asked innocently, his mind still inflamed over the whole idea that centuries of history beyond the borders of the Shire were blithely ignored by the hobbits simply because it had little do with them. He could not believe that such ignorance existed, especially after what happened with Saruman and his rape of the Shire.

"You were there to say talk to Diamond!" Merry roared angrily. "I had to put up with Estella Bolger all morning trying to convince her to help us so you could go talk to the girl of your dreams and all you ended up doing is getting into a debate with her!"

Like a splash of water, Pippin realised what he had done and the expression on his face went from the crusader of historical records to failed suitor with remarkable speed. He slapped his hand across his forehead as his faced show dismay at what he had done.

"Oh no!" He exclaimed. "What was I thinking?"

"I have no idea!" Merry retorted shaking his head, glad that Pippin had returned to reality once again. "You were practically shouting at the girl!"

"But I was right!" Pippin offered desperately, hoping that he had not behaved as terribly as he did - though in principle he was quite unrepentant.

Merry rolled his eyes in exasperation, "that may be so but you were not there to champion the First and the Second Age! You were there to talk to Diamond!"

"I have to apologise," Pippin stammered, unable to think of what else to do. "I have to go now."

"I don’t know whether that’s such a good idea after the fool you just made of yourself in front of her," Merry pointed out bluntly.

  
"I’ve got to say something!" Pippin declared marching past him towards the library again. "I don’t, she’ll be mad at me and I won’t get her help."

"Her help?" Merry’s brow wrinkled in confusion. "Help for what?"

Pippin turned around and stared at him as if he had suddenly transformed into an Ent and retorted impatiently, "to help me with updating the library of course?"

"Updating the library?" Merry’s eyes turned into saucers. "You want to update her to update the library?"

"Of course not!" Pippin shook his head wondering how his best friend could understand him so little. "I can’t expect her to do that, she’s got enough to do as it is."

Merry’s head was starting to hurt the more he attempted to keep track of what was on Pippin’s mind. He had not seen his best friend so properly inspired since the Battle of Bywater and oddly enough, it was not even about Diamond, but rather books. "Pippin, you’ve lost me," he finally called out, crying defeat at attempting to unravel Pippin’s so called logic.

"I mean to do it myself," Pippin said proudly and very pleased with the idea that was taking grand shape in his mind the more he thought about it. "I mean why not. Between you and I we know most of the kings of Middle earth, I don’t see why we can’t go see them and get their help in updating our library or better yet, creating one a whole new one?"

"You’ve gone mad!" Merry finally exclaimed. "You looked into the palantir too many times and gone mad. Gandalf warned you that thing was dangerous and now you’ve just ruined your mind completely."

"You have no vision Merry," Pippin let out a sigh and turned back to the library. "Can’t you see a great library with all the history of the world here in Hobbiton? I’ll bet there’d be nothing like it anywhere in the Shire."

"That’s probably because most hobbits don’t care about the history of the world," Merry pointed out dutifully, "just the Shire."

"Well it’s got to change," he said purposefully, refusing to let go of the idea that was spreading through his mind like a fever. "We can’t be as closed off as we have been. Look at how easy it was for Saruman to just walk in here and take things over? Can you imagine how long it would have lasted if we hadn’t come back and got everyone moving?"

Merry did think about it and it disturbed him just as greatly as it did Pippin. They had always assumed that the Shire would remain untouched by whatever mischief took place in the outside world. It was a foolish hope to think that the Shire and hobbits would be kept safely in isolation while beyond their borders Middle earth had nearly torn itself asunder. However, he was uncertain adding foreign texts to the library would help very much either to change the traditional view of hobbits and the outside world.

"What about Diamond?" Merry reminded Pippin in all his bluster about the Shire and their close mindedness to all things beyond it. "This whole exercise was so you can talk to her? Don’t tell me you forgotten about her?"

"Of course not," Pippin paused long enough to give Merry a look, "I’m going to talk to her and I’m going to apologise too."

"Good," Merry let out a sight of relief, glad that Pippin had returned to some semblance of self. "I don’t know receptive she’s going to be after the way you behaved."

"I’ll make her understand that I didn’t mean to yell," Pippin resumed up the steps to the library entrance. "I have to convince her," he replied.

Merry rolled his eyes and shook his head in resignation as he stared after Pippin, still somewhat stunned by the whole episode.

"I’m glad you got priorities straight," he muttered before following his insane friend into the building again.

* * *

Estella and Diamond were still chatting away at the front counter of the library when Pippin and Merry entered the place once again.

As expected, it was Estella who reacted first while Diamond merely looked on with surprise at what they were doing back in the library after the embarrassment of their rather memorable departure. Pippin’s bluster had faded somewhat at the sight of Diamond and he made his return somewhat contritely. Unfortunately, it appeared that Estella was not about to let him come away unscathed for his earlier outburst.

  
"What are you doing back here?" Estella demanded, unable to hold her tongue or her temper, "How dare you come crawling back here after talking to Diamond that way Peregrin Took!"

"I know," Pippin struggled to explain himself in the face of Estella’s sharp rebuke. "I am sorry Diamond…" 

"Oh will you shut up and let him have a word edgewise, Estella Bolger?" Merry immediately came to his friend’s rescue as he floundered under Estella’s sharp tongue. Merry was certain that if Estella wielded her tongue like a sword, not even Aragorn would stand a chance of coming out of their duel alive.

"I think he’s had quite enough words Meriadoc!" Estella returned without being thrown off slightly by her indignation at Merry’s interruption.

As Pippin and Diamond watched Merry and Estella confront each other like two great storms meeting in the sky, Pippin inched his way around the two combatants and spoke to Diamond over the sound of their furious voices.

"Can I have a word?" he asked once again, this time to the lady herself.

Diamond answered by slipping out from behind the counter and gesturing to a door on the other side of the room. Pippin followed her immediately, unsurprised that neither Merry nor Estella noticed that they were leaving the room. He looked over his shoulder to see if Merry needed any help but when he heard his best friend telling Estella that her voice was worse then the Crebain of Dunland, Pippin decided that Merry was more then capable of taking care of himself. Besides, Pippin wanted to be well clear of the duo when blood was finally spilled.

The door led to an alcove where there was a little stove and a comfortable wing chair and a window that allowed the sunlight into the room. Pippin guessed that this had been Willow’s little refuge when she needed a break and surmised that it was now Diamond’s since she had taken over the library for her aunt. It was a pleasant little room, with a nice wing chair that looked terribly comfortable and enough sunlight pouring through the window to ensure that it was always was warm as it always got the sun.

"This is nice," Pippin commented looking around with approval.

"Its for when I feel like a spot of tea or a little moment to myself during the day," Diamond explained. "The stove warms the room quickly in winter and the tea is nice on cold mornings."

He did not doubt that and felt very privileged at being invited into this secret place of hers. Pippin was also very encouraged by the fact that she did not appear angry with him although he was not about to take advantage of her kind disposition when he still owed her an apology.

"Diamond, I am sorry I went off at you like a fool earlier. I let my temper get away from me and took it out on you. That was very wrong of me."

"No its alright," she said easing into the chair and motioned for him to sit as well. There was a cushioned footstool that served the purpose of a second seat for an unexpected guest and Pippin was not about to decline the lady’s offer to join her.

"You were not wrong," she replied when he had sat down. "It is true, the library does seem lacking when all it has is just the lore of the Shire."

"That’s still no reason to take it out on you,. It isn’t your fault because you’re right too. That is how it is with hobbits, isn’t it?"

"Yes," she agreed, "it is." 

"It’s just that I’ve seen so much in my life Diamond," Pippin felt compelled to explain truthfully why he felt so passionately about this, so she would understand. "I’ve seen things that no hobbit ought to and I know I haven’t even seen all of it. When we first left the Shire, we were like children who had no idea what was out the door. We used to hear Bilbo speak of his adventures but we never really understood. A lot of it was like a fairy tale, a part of us didn’t even believe half the things he said were true until we left ourselves and learn different. There are terrible things out there Diamond, some so evil that words cannot fully describe them, they hide in secret places or they ride horses in the dark. Sometimes it is easier to stay hidden and be forgotten the way we are, to be safe from such terrors but then we miss so much."

Diamond listened to him speak and said nothing for she could feel each word against her skin like a soft breath. He spoke with such earnest sincerity that it was difficult not to be swept away by the intensity of his sentiments.

"But there are also beautiful things Diamond," Pippin continued. "I’ve met elves who can make you see the stars just by looking into their eyes. I’ve seen trees that move and breathe like we do and life that is so old that what we say or do in our little world is a blink of an eye to them. It pains me to think that the rest of the Shire won’t know any of this. Do you know that Frodo Baggins has saved all of Middle earth? That everywhere but here, he is the Ringbearer that saved us all. He lost his finger destroying something that could have plunged us all into a Dark Age and yet no one really knows and I don’ really think they care. Sharkey’s being here was just the final act in a tale that has spanned centuries and we knew nothing of it here in the Shire until it was too late and almost destroyed us."

When he finished speaking, he noted that she did not answer and he wondered if he should not have just apologized and spared her his long explanations.

"I think its sad that more people don’t think as you do," Diamond replied finally and drew a breath of relief from Pippin by her answer. "I used to be like them, not wanting to know what happened beyond the Shire. I didn’t care to know until Sharkey came and everything changed. It cost me not knowing Pippin, it cost me a great deal."

"You mean Drogo don’t you?" he made a guess.

She was rubbing her hands together as if she were cold and he fought the urge to rest his own upon them to provide her with some warmth. However, he sensed it was a different kind of coldness that gripped her and his touch would do little good but to confuse the issue.

"I loved him so much," she raised her eyes to Pippin’s and he saw that they were glistening with emotion. "I haven’t spoken about him to anyone you know, not since I stood by and saw him buried into the earth. For so long, I couldn’t understand how it had happened, how the Shire where I had felt safe for so long could become such a dangerous place, where a battle could be fought. My life was never more than getting married and having children, I never thought about anything beyond it. When he died, the world became colder for me Pippin but it also became bigger. I do not want some other girl to find that out the way I did."

Pippin felt his heart ache as he heard her speak, feeling privileged that she should chose him to make such revelations while at the same time saddened by her loss. He wondered if Drogo knew how lucky he had been to be loved so deeply and envious because he wished she cared for him in the same way. For the first time in his life, his infatuation for her was not some idealised version of what love ought to be. Instead it was something real and tangible that drew the emotion from him in all its purity and he was glad that he could appreciate her the way she deserved to be.

"I didn’t know him very well," Pippin confessed after a time, when the atmosphere had soaked up her words and he was accustomed enough to it to answer. "I know he fought well because everyone who fell in that battle did. He died protecting the Shire, protecting it for you I’m sure."

"I know," she smiled faintly, drying her eyes even though the tears had yet to spill over her lashes. "Its nice to be able to talk to someone about it."

"I’m glad you could," he replied. "You can always do that around me. I don’t mind listening."

"Thank you," she met his eyes and this time when she smiled, Pippin knew that it was for him.

* * *

Away from the sight of Pippin and Diamond, though certainly not beyond their hearing, Merry and Estella were still screaming at each other, having thrown out the rule about being silent in the library not merely out the door, but down the steps and into the street. Merry had thought that he had encountered unpleasant things in his life capable of making his skin boil but Estella had brought him to new heights of fury. Not since their capture by the Uruk Hai, had Merry felt such unbelievable anger at this female whose mouth was more lethal than any creature Sauron might have created in the darkness of Mordor.

"I don’t know why I bother to help either of you! You have not changed one bit. You were silly before you went away and one would think you would have developed some sense travelling in the world but apparently not! I can never understand why Fredegar would surround himself by such lunatics!"

"Probably because he can’t stand his immediate family," Merry retorted. "Which is perfectly understandable after meeting you!"

"Oh that’s a fine way to behave in front of lady!" she hissed.

"A lady?" he snorted in derision. "When I  _see_  a lady I will behave like a gentlemen. Honestly, the only kind of behaviour you seem to inspire in a man is the need to dash one’s brains against the walls."

"Be my guest!" she growled. "Not that there you have brains to dash anyway!"

"If I had any," he stared at her, eyes narrowed. "I certainly would not be wasting them on someone like you!"

"Someone like me?" She glared at him. "You mean someone  _better_  than a Brandybuck?"

Now Merry was properly incensed at the attack upon the Brandybuck name especially from someone called Bolger.

"If it was not for the fact that your brother rises a head above everyone else in your wretched family, I would say all the Bolgers can go throw themselves in the Brandywine!"

"Better a Bolger than a Brandybuck!" Estella hollered back angrily."Its no wonder you’re not married yet," Merry retorted with just as much venom. "You’re as sweet as vinegar!"

"And you’re a pompous, vainglorious halfwit!" Estella sputtered angrily.

"I am the halfwit who helped save the Shire!" Merry said smugly.

"Oh we knew  _that_  had to come out eventually," she placed her hands on her hips and stared at him with something akin to satisfaction. "Its not enough that you throw all these parties and ride about the Shire in your finery, constantly reminding everyone that you and Pippin were the heroes at the Battle of Bywater, expecting everyone to fall at your feet swooning with gratitude that you came to save us. I’m sick of you lording it over us! You weren’t alone at Bywater you know!"

"If you were not a woman, I would knock you on your behind for that!" Merry declared, quite enraged that she had accused them of lording their accomplishments over the Shire. They did nothing of the kind. Well not entirely anyway. However, as the words sunk in, Merry could not deny that perhaps on some level she was right. Still, he would rather be dragged through the heart of Mount Doom before making that admission to her.

"My behind is none of your concern!" Estella snapped though he noted she took a cautionary step away from him.

The withdrawal was too much of an opening for him to resist and he took a step towards her, hoping to intimidate her further in this battle of wills that had spiralled so much out of control since it had ignited so spectacularly in the last few minutes. Neither was even aware that Pippin and Diamond were no longer in the room, they were too concerned at who would win their verbal fencing match.

"That is unfortunate," he gave her a wicked look. "If you were a mare, I think you would benefit from a good whipping."

"A mare?" Her mouth dropped open in outrage. "And what are you supposed to be my master?"

"If that were only true," his lips curled in a little smile, "I would see to it that you were stabled and muzzled for the rest of your life!"

"Cur!" Estella cried out, her cheeks flushed red with ire.

"Nag!" He returned sharply and suddenly realised that she was very beautiful when she was angry.

For a second they stared at each other, breathing hard, trying to catch their breath as they considered what way was best to resume their attack. Merry found himself taking the momentary pause to really look at her. She had been such a familiar fixture in his life for as long as he remembered that it was easy to forget how much she had grown from Fatty’s annoying older sister to the harpy that was presently screaming at him. She had very strong features he noticed, with thick lashes and dark eyebrows that accentuated her eyes. Her lips reminded him a little of a baby’s, bow shaped and resembling the colour of pink roses.

When she was not wearing a scowl she was actually very pretty. No sooner than that observation had crossed his mind, Merry acted purely on impulse and did something very unexpected. He took her by the arms and pulled her to him. Before she had a chance to offer protest, Merry crushed his lips against hers and discovered that they did feel felt like rose petals against the skin. His tongue invaded the cavern of her mouth, slipping through her lips, partly open from surprise, and for a moment he was lost in the sweetest taste imaginable.

If only briefly.

"How dare you!" She shoved him away with indignation.

He was fairly gasping when she forced his lips away from hers, suddenly overcome by how she felt against him.

"How dare you kiss me?" She demanded. Her cheeks were tinged with red as she stared at him, clearly flustered at the contact. Merry was in the process of trying to think up a suitable response when suddenly, he felt her hands on his face, pulling him to her once again.

* * *

"They’re quiet," Pippin suddenly stated, noting the sudden cessation of silence.

"They probably noticed we weren’t even in the room," Diamond cracked a smile.

"It’s either that or they’ve gone and killed each other," he answered and glanced at the doorway, wondering if he ought to go investigate.

"I’m glad we had this talk," Diamond replied, leaving behind the topic of Merry and Estella for the moment. "I haven’t told anyone how I’ve felt about Drogo in so long. My friends and family have been very sympathetic but they seem to think that I should have got over it a long time ago."

"People can be misguided with their good intentions," Pippin agreed, understanding far better than she could possibly imagine. Once upon a time, a young hobbit not knowing any better had followed his friend beyond the Shire with no idea of what was awaiting him there. He had done so out of friendship but had thought little of the consequences really, until he was waist deep in trouble and swept away on a title wave of world changing events.

"Thank you Pippin," she said warmly, "thank you for listening."

"Thank you for not throwing me out the door after my stupid behavior," he reminded. "I didn’t think it was stupid," she countered immediately. "I thought it was very true what you said about building a library that keeps record of all kinds of thing, not just of the Shire."

"I’m glad," he met her gaze. "Because I really do intend to something about it and I’ll need your help with it, you being a proper librarian and all."

"It will be my pleasure," Diamond said graciously.Pippin was about to answer when suddenly they heard a sharp and abrupt scream. He raised his eyes to Diamond’s a split second before they ran out of the alcove into the main library floor one again. Upon doing so, they were brought to a complete and utter halt as they discovered that the scream had not originated from Estella as they feared but rather a portly old matron who was staring at the counter with extreme shock and for good reason.

Merry and Estella were in the process of disengaging themselves from each other’s embrace, their arms and legs appearing an unruly tangle as it became quite clear what they had been doing on top of the counter when they were stumbled upon by the latest visitor to the library. The top three buttons of Merry’s waistcoat was undone and a corner of shirt tale was hanging loose from his trousers. Estella was in no better condition, the sleeve of her dress had been pulled down enough to expose one creamy shoulder and her pinned hair was dishevelled, with loose strands dangling about her neck. Her lips were red and swollen and she looked decidedly flustered.

"Merry!" Pippin exclaimed in stunned disbelief.

"Estella, really! Oh Mrs Hornblower," Diamond immediately went to the startled old woman to calm her down. "I am so sorry!

For once, Estella had no words to answer, her only response being the deepening flush of red on her cheeks.

"I should hope so!" The woman’s pursed white lips unclenched enough to declare. "Its disgraceful! Cavorting like that in public!"

It was difficult to say who was more astonished by the scene but those present were equally mute on the subject. Fortunately, Diamond had ushered Mrs.Hornblower into her little alcove, intending to ply her with tea and possibly ensure that Estella's and Merry's 'display' in the library did not become a matter of public knowledge, though that was going to be a difficult task indeed. The Shire thrived on gossip and Mrs. Hornblower, as her name implied, was usually not one to keep secrets.

"Cavorting?" Pippin finally managed to say, firing the word at Merry.

" I shall never live this down!" Estella cried out, unable to hide her mortification any further.

"I'm sure it won't be that bad," Merry tried feebly to say something to make her feel better, but making her  _feel_  something was what had landed them in this situation in the first place.

"Oh what would you know!" She snapped out at him and hurried past Merry and Pippin, unable to face either of them.

"Estella…." Merry started to say but she was out the door before he had a chance to speak further. As he heard her footsteps grow distant, Merry suddenly had the feeling that his life had become a great deal more complicated.

* * *

"So you and Estella huh?" Pippin asked, wearing a smirk on his face as the two of them left the library behind.

"Shut up," Merry said darkly, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground before him.

"Of course," Pippin nodded, forcing the grin across his face into a smile that would not hold for very long. "Not a word."

"Good," Merry retorted with an edge of warning in his voice that told Pippin it was probably not wise to provoke him at this moment. His heart was a jumble of uncertain feelings towards Estella Bolger and he had no idea how it was all going to turn out. However, he did know ridicule was the  _last_  thing he needed right now.

Unfortunately, Pippin was not about to spare him anything.

"Still if I was going to say anything," Pippin added, "it would probably be to say…."

Merry stopped in his tracks and glared at Pippin with a look that would have frozen Aragorn his tracks.

"Not…a….word," he growled.

"Alright, I won't make comment at all," Pippin declared holding his hands up in mock resignation before adding with a wide grin because it was too good to resist, "except to say that you make a cute couple."

"Right that's it!" Merry swore and lunged at him.

Pippin got halfway across Hobbiton before Merry finally caught him.


	8. Aftermath

The puppy stared at Aragorn Elessar as the king pulled off his boots and tossed them on the floor. Aragorn noted the creature’s eyes upon him and returned its stare with a scowl of annoyance. The puppy did not seem to notice his hostility and continued to stare at his master, his tail wagging back and forth, expressing his boundless enthusiasm at his new situation. Aragorn efforts to smother his happy demeanor with a harsh glare had little effect upon the pup. Instead the beast padded across the floor from his appointed sleeping place in the parlor of the royal suite and stopped in front of Aragorn. As if determined to win the king’s hardened heart, the puppy then dropped to its paws before Aragorn’s feet whilst continuing to stare at his new master with its sympathetic eyes.

Aragorn let out a groan of frustration, knowing that he was warming to the creature despite himself. Muttering under his breath, Aragorn leaned forward and begrudgingly patted the puppy gently, a gesture that resulted in having his hand heartily licked by the animal in appreciation. A small smile curled up the side of Aragorn’s lips and he supposed he could understand why Eldarion had grown so attached to the animal in the market place. Perhaps the little thing was worth all the trouble that Aragorn was suffering because of its unexpected purchase.

"Do not think this exonerates you from what I am enduring today," Aragorn said gruffly, trying not to become too affected by the animal. "I am still unimpressed that my son forced me into buying you and I do intend to take some kind of revenge upon the hawker that tricked me into buying you."

The puppy did not seem to care. He was more concerned with the patting he was receiving as well acquainting himself with the scent and the taste of the master of his new pack.

"What shall we name you then?" Aragorn asked the puppy, whose wagging tale did not abate to consider the question.

As tempting as it was to name the puppy Boromir, Aragorn decided against it.

"How about Huan?" He asked. The puppy cocked his head but did not appear to disapprove. Aragorn found it somewhat appropriate since the pup’s namesake, the legendary wolfhound of the Valar, had served Orome the Huntsman and had fallen in love with the elven princess, Luthien.

"Huan the wolf hound you shall be," Aragorn smiled and patted the small dog on the head affectionately, much to the creature’s delight.

After a moment, Aragorn withdrew his hand from the animal and leaned back into the divan, hoping not all his sojourns into the city would end as eventfully as this one. Personally, he would rather be facing an army of Uruk Hai then to endure a repeat of what he suffered today. Who would have thought a simple day out in the city could cause so much trouble?

Aragorn shifted position on the divan and found that it was no use. It was far too uncomfortable for him to rest comfortably upon it without assistance. Letting out a heavy sigh for he had no wish to do this, Aragorn rose to his feet and made his way across the floor to the closed door on the other side of the room. He gazed hopefully at the door as if he could see through the polished wood to the room on the other side. He could hear nothing from the adjoining chamber and knew that elves could be terribly quiet when they wanted to be. Steeling himself for the worst, Aragorn resolved to hold his head high as he bore his next humiliation with the dignity of a king. Fortunately he had only the puppy to witness this embarrassment.

"Undomiel," Aragorn called out after a moment of deliberation, clearing his throat before speaking.

Unsurprisingly, there was no answer.

"Could I at least have a pillow?"

Another second of uncomfortable silence ensued and Aragorn was almost ready to give up when he heard her soft footsteps against the hard floor. His heart soared at the sound of the door opening, grateful that she was not going to stay angry with him forever.

"Undomiel…," Aragorn started to say as he saw her through the crack of the door. However, the chance to finish his sentence did not come for he was suddenly hit face first with a pillow. This was immediately followed by the sharp sound of a door slamming shut.

Aragorn stood there for a moment, staring at the pillow and the closed door, uttering curses very softly because elven hearing ensured that she would be able to hear every word he said.

"Yes," he said softly to himself as he returned to the divan, "it is going to be a long night indeed."

* * *

 

It was a beautiful ceremony.

At least it was after the bride and groom were finally found and made to attend.

As they were led to they were led to the wedding by Aragorn, the king was forced to listen to Legolas reminding him of all the occasions were the elf had come to his rescue in one adventure or another. Legolas was working hard to ensure that Aragorn be made to feel as guilty as possible for finding their hiding place and until that moment, Aragorn had no idea that elves had such long memories. This accounting of debts did not see its end until when he was finally forced to join the guests to let the ceremony began.

As was with elven weddings, the feasting took place before the actual betrothal ceremony. This was fortunate because the breaking of bread in the company of friends and family dispelled the anxieties that came with such an occasion. Legolas remained close to Melia, aware that she was terribly nervous about all the fanfare and because the traditions of her own people were vastly different. Thranduil played the part of the perfect host even though he was not the master of Eden Ardhon. It was fortunate that both Celeborn and Pallando was present, for only they were equal enough in stature to speak frankly to Thranduil when his determination to have everything transpire flawlessly stretched his son’s patience to the limits. Thanks to the Lord of East Lorien and the Maia, Legolas was not forced to commit patricide in full view of the wedding party.

In an effort to make the evening pass smoother, Gimli plied the prince with dwarf draught to ease Legolas’ annoyance at his father’s usurping of his authority in his own realm. Two mugs of mead had been consumed before Legolas started reciting poetry expressing his love for Melia. While the lady should have been impressed, the quality of the prose left a great deal to be desired since the poet was in an extreme state of inebriation and whose entire repertoire consisted of a number of bawdy limericks he had once heard in a Gondorian tavern. Throughout the recital, the wedding party attempted to restrain their snorts and giggles while Aragorn was attempting to silence Legolas since it was  _he_  who had taken the former Prince of Mirkwood to that tavern in the first place.

By the time the feasting was done, Legolas had recovered enough to stand but little else. Since Melia had no family to speak off, she asked Arwen to take the role in the ceremony that would normally be for her mother. It was up to the queen to present the bride to her new husband while Thranduil would do the honors for Legolas. Once Arwen and Thranduil had placed Legolas and Melia’s hand within each other’s, both king and queen blessed the couple with ancient forms that invoke the names of Varda, Manwe and Eru in the tribute. To seal the union and complete the ceremony, gold rings forged by Gimli as a gift for the couple, were exchanged and worn on the index of the right hand.

The rest of the night transpired smoothly with the feasting continuing straight after the ceremony’s conclusion. Pallando had entertained them with his fireworks since the entertainment prepared by Thranduil had to be abandoned due to a litany of injuries acquired by the troop of performers the night before during the unexpected ‘orc’ attack.

The next morning, Legolas awoke to find that the sun was much to bright in his eyes and his wife staring at him from her side of their bed with a rather bemused expression on her face.

"What happened?" He asked as he draped his hand over his eyes, trying to keep the daylight from boring holes in the back of his skull.

"You do not remember?" Melia asked sweetly.

"I remember we were married," he said with a smile, hoping that would diffuse the obviously restrained annoyance he could see reflected in her eyes. "That it was wonderful," he grinned at her.

  
"It was wonderful," Melia remarked, brushing a strand of hair out of his face affectionately, "especially that lovely poem you recited to me."

Legolas swallowed thickly because he had no memory of this.

"Poem?" He asked gingerly.

"Oh yes," Melia nodded, perfectly aware that he would not remember it. If it were her, she would block out the memory too. "How did it go?" She said thoughtfully. "Oh yes, there was something about a lovely lass from Minas Tirith, who body was shaped like an hour glass and the only thing more exception than her bosoms were the wondrous globes of her as……"

"Do not tell me that is what I recited at the wedding?" Legolas groaned and rolled into the pillow in mortification.

"Fine I will not tell you," she said shortly, "but that does not change the fact that you still did recite it."

Legolas closed his eyes and groaned, "I am so sorry. How will you ever forgive me?"

"I already have," Melia said sweetly and kissed him on the lips, just to prove to him that all was forgiven, after a fashion, "I love you too much to be so petty."

"Thank you," Legolas sighed in relief and pulled her closer to him in an embrace. "I love you too."

"There was one other little thing though," she added with a smile.

"What is it?" He asked dreamily, breathing in the scent of her skin into his lungs.

"I told your father that when we have children, he can plan the christening."

* * *

He could hear a bed creaking and knew immediately that it was not his.

Frodo sat up suddenly in the sheets, eyes wide as saucers as he identified the sound he knew could be only one thing coming from the next room. Muttering under his breath, he tried not to pay too much attention to the love making that was taking place next door and dove under the sheets, grasping for his pillow. Burying his head between his mattress and his pillow, Frodo tried desperately to ignore the sounds of soft whimpers and pleasured sighs of voices too familiar to him. Instead he focussed his mind on his book, attempting to recount details of the great events that he had been party to.

He was in the midst of recounting his first encounter with a ring wraith when suddenly, the imaginary Nazgul moaned so contently in his mind, Frodo knew that it was not his vivid imagination that had conjured up the sound. Realizing that there was nothing else for it, he sat up abruptly in his bed once more. The creaking had not ceased and appeared to be reaching climax in its rhythm. Frodo tried hard not to reason why this was and decided that his contingency plan would simply have to be put in effect. Grabbing his pillow, he climbed out of his bed and padded out of his room.

He was passing by the kitchen when he noted the remnants of the pie that Rosie had baked that day for dinner still sitting on the table. Like all hobbits, the mere sight of food had started his stomach rumbling and Frodo was suddenly visited with memories of how the pie had tasted. Surprisingly enough, it was more than capable of brushing aside his more recent recollections, which had largely to do with what was going on inside Sam and Rosie’s room at this instant. Setting down his pillow on one of the chairs at the table, he poured himself a glass of milk and attacked the remains of the pie with appropriate enthusiasm.

As he started to eat, Frodo took a deep breath, relishing the taste of pie in his mouth. He thanked his stars that Rosie was the cook she was and found his gaze resting on the curtains that had made him think today would be such a disaster. In the quiet of night, with his mind somewhat a peace despite his rude awakening, Frodo could see the attraction in the cheerfully printed fabric. Perhaps it was not to his taste but the truth was, his tastes were rather dark lately and probably in need of some infusion of color to remind him that his life was not irrevocably marred because he was once the Ringbearer.

For all the complaints he had made today about Rosie and the intrusions upon his life since her marriage to Sam, Frodo could not deny that she brought to Bag End both warmth and a much needed woman’s touch. Since he was unlikely to be married or be very popular among the ladies of Hobbiton following his encounter with Violet, Frodo decided that this was a good thing. Suddenly, suffering a lack of sleep was a sacrifice he could endure (after he made some alternate sleeping arrangements of course) if it meant that Rosie could continue to remain in Bag End. Besides, Frodo had never seen Sam happier and that pleased the Master of Bag End considerably.

Frodo looked up to see Sam entering the kitchen, clad in his nightshirt.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam exclaimed, halting in mid step at the doorway.

"What are you doing up Sam?" Frodo asked and then mentally chided himself at the choice of words considering he knew perfectly well what Sam was ‘up’ to before emerging from his room.

"Oh," Sam’s cheek took a deeper shade of red, Frodo was certain, probably because he too had the same thought, "I thought I might see if there was any pie left."

"Enough for another slice," Frodo remarked, gesturing to the dish in the middle of the table that still had one portion left.

Sam sat down after grabbing a plate and looked at Frodo, "what about you Mister Frodo? What are you doing awake at this time of night."

Frodo paused a moment before he spoke. While he had no wish to embarrass Sam, he had no desire to let his resentment seethe over his lack of sleep either. If they were all going to live together under the same roof, then they were going to have to learn to speak honestly with each other.

"Well I think we have mice in the walls," Frodo responded meeting Sam’s gaze.

"Mice?" Sam brow’s rose in confusion.

"Yes," Frodo nodded. "They seem to make the walls and the floorboards creak."

It took but a brief second for Frodo’s veiled reply to register upon the hobbit but when it did, Frodo was treated to the spectacular sight of Sam’s face turning completely crimson within the blink of an eye.

"Oh Mr. Frodo!" Sam exclaimed aghast. "I had no idea that the…" his words faltered and he struggled to compose himself before speaking again, "that the  _mice_ were so loud. I am terribly sorry if it has kept you awake. No wonder you are so disagreeable in the mornings."

"Its alright," Frodo chuckled, "its just ‘mice’."

"Trust me," Sam assured him, "this will never happen again."

"Never happen again?" Frodo stared at him. "I dare say Rosie won’t be happy."

Sam gave Frodo a look and muttered, "you know what I mean."

"I do," Frodo replied, rebuking himself for finding too much amusement in Sam’s discomfiture. "I was thinking that perhaps you might want to clear out the room that used to be Bilbo’s study. I seldom use it since I prefer to do my reading in the parlor," he suggested.

  
"Clear it out?" Sam stared suspiciously at Frodo.

"Yes," Frodo nodded. "It’s a good deal bigger than the one you and Rosie have and it has a better view."

Sam nodded in understanding, "its also on the other side of the house from  _your_  room."

"Exactly," Frodo stated with a smile. "It will certainly see to it that I am not bothered by ‘mice’."

  
"Mice," Sam said mutely.

"Sam," Frodo spoke up, capturing his best friend’s attention. "This is just a little thing so do not think that I am upset in anyway, I am very glad you and Rosie are here "

"Thank you Mr. Frodo," Sam replied, knowing his friend well enough to know that the sentiment in his voice was genuine.

And they both sat there, sharing pie and talking about inconsequential things before Sam retired to his room and Frodo returned to his, assured that there would be no mice stirring for the rest of the night.

* * *

Gimli made his return to Minas Tirith astride his pony; rather surprised at how smoothly the journey had gone once he had accustomed himself to making the trip on horseback. The mare had given him little difficulty as he journeyed from to Minas Tirith to supervise the construction of the mithril gates Aragorn had commissioned him to build. Following the discovery that Eomer had acquired him a gentler animal in replacement of the gelding that had almost killed him, Gimli discovered the business of riding was not as difficult or as painful as initially perceived. The disposition of the mare suited him and though he dared not voice it, reminded him a little of Lorin in that the beast seemed to be infinitely patient and willing to endure the full extent of his temperamental disposition.

All the way to Gondor, Gimli had accustomed himself to the animal’s habits. He soon discovered that other than allowing the mare to know which direction he wished to go, there was very little need to exert himself upon the beast. Most of the time, the pony would continue at a comfortable pace, requiring only a slight tug on the reins to discern which way her master desired to travel. Eomer had been very closed mouth about the gelding he had originally be given and Gimli’s inquiries only resulted in the king muttering angrily without revealing anything about the pony’s whereabouts.

Gimli did not ponder too much the question for Mirkwood Prince the Second, had performed superbly and was allowing him to ride her without any difficulty. He could not deny that he felt very dignified astride the beast and wished Lorin could have seen him riding the pony before he had set out for Minas Tirith. Unfortunately, his business in the White City could not be delayed and so Gimli had set out, hoping to see Legolas who was still aiding Aragorn with the remnants of Sauron’s army.

A smile of devious pleasure crossed the dwarf’s lips when he thought of the mining tools that were secreted in his saddlebag. If he had learnt to ride a horse, then Legolas was certainly going to suffer as he had by learning a skill that was so beyond the natural capabilities of Eldar that Gimli could imagine the shudder on the prince’s face when he presented it to Legolas.

Gimli was going to enjoy that expression a great deal.

"I cannot believe it!" the Prince exclaimed when he and Aragorn greeted Gimli upon the dwarf’s arrival at the palace. "You are actually riding it!"

Gimli climbed out of the saddle unto the courtyard, patting the pony gently on the flank as one of the stable hands led the beast towards the royal stable. He was rather pleased by the reaction of his friends who appeared mildly astonished by the sight of him riding the animal, a thing that was so foreign to dwarfs that it was likely to be a sight that none of them would ever witness again.

"Well I did not have a choice," Gimli said giving Legolas a look. "After all a gift is a gift."

"That is true," Legolas nodded, "but I honestly thought you would be too stubborn to learn to use it."

"It appears that Gimli is a good deal more resourceful then you give him credit, Legolas," Aragorn remarked, very impressed by the dwarf’s accomplishment because Aule’s children were very averse to riding animals of any kind. "Well done Master Dwarf," Aragorn complimented.

"Thank you," Gimli said sincerely appreciating the gesture. "However, now that I have learnt to ride a pony, you must accept my gift."

Legolas’ eyes narrowed in suspicion, his elven senses detecting some form of danger though in what manner he was uncertain. "Gift?"

"Yes," Gimli smiled. "I have for you the finest mining tools that my smiths at Aglarond was able to forge. I look forward to you visiting the Glittering Caves to put them to use."

Aragorn snorted loudly, restraining the guffaw that wanted badly to escape the hand that quickly shot to his mouth.

"Mining? An elf?" he managed to say; though barely able to keep himself from sniggering.

"Mining?" Legolas brows shot up. "Elves do not mine," he quickly pointed.

"And dwarves do not ride but since I have learnt thanks to your gift, I do not see any reason why you could not do the same," Gimli returned smugly.

"He does have a point," Aragorn smirked.

"But…but…but…," Legolas started to stammer.

"Do not worry Prince," Gimli grinned, enjoying the elf’s discomfiture a great deal as he patted Legolas on the back or as much of it he could reach, "I am sure that you will enjoy it as much as I did when I was forced to use your ‘gift’."

"Gimli, perhaps we should talk about this," Legolas suggested nervously as the thought of burrowing under the earth, with mining tools no less, began to impress itself upon his brain with a vengeance.

"Of course we will," Gimli said with a voice so evil, Sauron might have delivered himself it himself. "As soon as I retrieve your tools from my pony. By the way, did I tell you its name?"

* * *

"YOU CALLED IT WHAT?"

The stable hand paused in mid step as he heard the outraged exclamation from across the courtyard followed by the sounds of sidesplitting laughter. For a moment, the young lad was ready to swear that the voices belonged to the elven Prince of Mirkwood and the King of Gondor. However, he shook his head of the possibility.

Royalty had too much dignity for that.

* * *

The day had ended and it was not as terrible as Faramir had envisioned it to be.

Although certain facts remained unchanged, they were realities he was capable of accepting. His brother was dead and he was all that was left of Denethor’s heirs. It hurt to know that his father as well as his brother was dead and buried. Despite their differences, he had loved Denethor and was certain than in his own way, the Steward had loved his second son as well. So much history had died with Denethor, so much tradition had come to a startling end even though Faramir was still the last heir to the legacy of the Ruling Stewards. Aragorn’s establishment as king had changed the world for the better but it had meant the end of that grand past. Faramir had come to accept its demise long ago because in the face of his loss, he had acquired something almost as great.

And she was lying next to him in their bed, drifting gently to sleep.

His heart swelled as he stared at his wife and knew that she was right, he had never lost Boromir, not even in death and he had much to be grateful for. In the face of his overwhelming loss, she had entered his life like a beacon of light that illuminated the darkness of his grief, giving hope by her presence alone. As he watched her sleep, appearing as a Maia spirit with her hair of spun gold and the luster of moonlight across her lashes, he could not help but feel tremendously fortunate that she had entered his life when he thought he was utterly alone.

Although he never told her, she reminded him a great deal of his brother because she had Boromir’s fire and his warrior spirit. She would let no one fight her battles and she would protect those she loved to the death. How could he not love her or think for a moment that he lost his brother when his wife embodied so much of Boromir. Perhaps that is why he felt in love with her from the very first because she was this force of nature that was unique unto herself but also very reminiscent of the brother he would miss until the day he died.

Faramir brushed her hair gently with his fingers, relishing the feel of the soft strands under his palm. Her eyes opened and pools of blue sky stared back at him, her lips curling a little smile at his touch.

"You do not sleep," she said softly.

"When I watch you, there is no need for sleep," he smiled affectionately at her.

"You are such a flatterer," she replied, holding his hand against her cheek as she stared into his face. "Are you alright? I know this day has been hard on you."

"It has," he did not bother to deny it but it was nowhere as bad as it could have been. "However, you being at my side has helped me to endure it and I love you for that."

"It was my pleasure," she answered warmly and paused a moment as she considered her next words. A few seconds passed before she finally spoke.

"I have been thinking and I hope you do not think it presumptuous of me but I would really like this to come to pass when the occasionally arises," Eowyn declared somewhat cautiously, uncertain how he would take her suggestion.

Faramir stared at her intrigued, "what occasion?"

"When the time comes for us to have children, if we have a son, I think we should call him Boromir."

Faramir felt his breath catch and the emotions he felt coursing through him were so thick, he could not speak for a short time. Eowyn’s expression revealed her anxiety as she feared for an instant that she had offended him with the idea. She was almost ready to recant when he spoke up, allaying her fears with his answer.

"I think it is a wonderful idea," Faramir replied, staring at her with eyes full of love before he covered her body with his, showing her unmistakably the full measure of his affection. The idea of naming their son Boromir seemed so right that wherever his brother was in the universe, Faramir was sure Boromir would approve.

* * *

In the year 1432 as measured by the Shire calendar, Pippin became Thain Peregrin Took the First.

He and his wife, Diamond of Long Cleeves whom he had married a year after their meeting at the library, moved into the Took ancestral home of Great Smials. In the years preceding this, he and Merry had kept in close contact with Gondor and the rest of Middle earth, resulting in the gathering of an impressive collection of books which dealt with the histories of the world beyond the Shire. Diamond with her skills had aided greatly in the creation of this library and though it was of little interest to the folk of the Shire, in later years there would be no greater source of information regarding Númenor and the Exiles following its downfall anywhere in Middle earth. Thanks to the library at Great Smials, the writing of other great texts such as the Tale of Years was made possible while a copy of the Red Book of Westmarch was always kept within its shelves in a place of honor.

Merry after much embarrassment and determination, won the heart of Estella Bolger who refused to see him for a month following their ‘display’ in the library. After enduring the disapproval of the Shire, the outrage of the entire Bolger clan and a near challenge to a duel by rocks with Fatty, Merry managed to convince Estella that he felt more than just carnal desire for her. They were married not long after Pippin and Diamond and shared a passionate and fiery relationship until the end of their days.

* * *

And while the normal life the Fellowship had craved unfolded in a manner that none of them expected, at least they could say it was never dull or ordinary.

Just rather complicated.

**THE END**


End file.
